


Endgame

by IreneClaire, KomodoQueen



Series: Devil's Games [2]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Abduction, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt Danny "Danno" Williams, Hurt Steve, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Danny, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Original Character(s), Protective Steve, Triggers, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 48
Words: 118,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5093036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneClaire/pseuds/IreneClaire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KomodoQueen/pseuds/KomodoQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'The Siege'. Spenser McCann, Dylan Walker & their team of skilled mercenaries return to finish the original mission. But McCann also brings along a very personal agenda - he returns for Danny as once promised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

_"I can't do it anymore. I thought I could, but I just can't …"_

"Don't even go there. You're stronger than that. After everything you've been through – everything you've lived through …"

_"It's too much, buddy … I'm sorry … so, so sorry …"_

"You stop that right now. I'm on my way to you right now. Don't you do anything 'til I get there, you hear me? I got you and I'm coming, right now …"

A choked off sob, followed by an eerie silence over the line had the man willing the car faster, foot pressed so hard against the pedal his muscles burned.

"Talk to me, buddy … I'm almost there … I'm pulling into your street right now …"

The barely audible " _I'm sorry_ " was the last thing he heard before the line went dead.

"No, no, _no_ … God _dammit_!" The car was still rocking into park as the blonde leapt from the vehicle, the smell of tire rubber and brake pads assaulting his senses as he sprinted for the house. A single shot rang out as he reached the entrance and he paused just long enough to draw his own weapon, dread already swirling in the pit of his stomach. With a sharp kick, he took the door – a move of which his partner would have been proud … especially seeing as he hadn't even tried the lock.

"Steve … STEVEN!" Weapon up, he headed into the house. An empty bottle of whiskey lay in the midst of old photographs. Heading further into the house, he stopped at the entrance to the study. The entire room looked trashed. Paperwork and files strewn across the floor; the contents of the desk littered amongst the chaos … and there, in the corner, was his partner. Propped against the wall, arms flaccid by his side … gun laid on the floor by his right hand. _Jesus, McGarrett. What the fuck did you do?_ For a brief moment, he froze. Too stunned to step any farther into the room. The sight of the pale, lax face of his partner and the steady spread of crimson across his abdomen catching his breath and his heart and squeezing it like a vise … his abdomen … why the hell would he shoot himself in the gut … unless …

"It's too much, buddy … I'm soooo sorry."

Danny whirled in place in the doorway at the sound of his partner's voice.

"Amazing, what one can do with modern technology, don't you think?"

The man held a small device to his mouth as he spoke, the voice distorting to sound exactly like his partner. Danny moved to raise his gun, but stopped at the sound of a weapon cocking from just beyond the door.

"Uh uh, detective … put the gun down or he will shoot you both, and your beloved partner definitely won't have any chance of survival."

"You?"

"Surprised to see me? You didn't think I'd give up that easily, did you?" Spenser drawled, a wicked smirk plastered across his face. "Now come," he indicated with a small tip of his head.

"We have lots to discuss."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	2. Chapter 2

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"I had hoped you'd live," Spenser McCann's tone did little to soothe Danny. "I was pleased when my informants shared the very happy news. You're tenacious to the best of all faults. But, you look … thinner … gaunt, though. Is it your bad arm? I do seem to recall that it was giving you some trouble the last time we saw each other."

Danny didn't know what to say as McCann studied him from head to toe. As far as he knew, no one knew the man's whereabouts. Even INTERPOL had pegged him last in Dubai; certainly nowhere near the shores of Hawaii. His mind was racing though, seconds ticking in his head as he thought about Steve. He dwelled nervously as he prayed an ambulance would arrive in time; he prayed that the volume of blood leaking through Steve's shirt looked worse than it really was. He knew without a doubt, too, that any such disparate 911 call from the Commander's home would also result in a flux of well-armed HPD responders.

"Why are you here?" Danny finally asked. His mind doing double-time between thoughts of Steve and his own predicament.

"Truth be told," Spenser answered with a smug, self-satisfied smile. "The second half of our mission is now in play. You remember my Dylan? He'll be joining us at some point along the way … I'm sure you missed him as much as he, you."

" _Your_ Dylan? Hardly … I didn't quite miss either one of you," Danny retorted. "I'm sure he didn't miss me at all. Especially with the … games … you like to play."

"Games? Hmmm, maybe to you they're games … but, no not so much." Spenser lifted one side of his mouth into a pleased grin.

"I am sincerely glad that you lived, Danno. But this McGarrett? Your Commander is quite … resilient. My sources say that young Kalakaua managed to get him to safety."

"I swear to God you're going to die," Danny hissed, his anger and worry breaking loose despite his best efforts.

"It's really very simple," Spenser McCann grinned contentedly as he stretched his legs, long and arrogantly out in front of him. He was sitting in Steve's favorite chair, turned just so on an angle where he could watch the ex-SEAL slowly bleed out and garner amusement from Danny's growing desperation. Four of his men ranged around the room, also watching. Feasibly waiting for their commander's direction.

"First, you'll hand your weapons over, along with your cell phone and badge," McCann said, his eyes narrowing as his body stiffened in readiness. He leaned forward, eager and ruthless with his next limited compromise. "Secondly, 911 gets summoned for your partner here … if and only if, you come with me. _Willingly_ , Danno. Now and with no questions asked; no fighting or arguing – no complaining. I really don't have the patience to deal with your mouthiness right now."

Simple and yet in reality, not so much. Danny didn't want to ask what the outcome would be if he didn't agree to the terms. Spenser would still get his way. Spenser McCann would still force him to go along; but only after they'd all watched as Steve quite literally … died. Danny was already drenched in sweat and beginning to shake from both a pent up rage, as well as fear for the unanticipated return of this particular person.

"Okay," Danny whispered. He had no choice but to accept as he looked down at Steve already slumped so lifelessly. Fingers trembling he thumbed the safety on his weapon, released the clip and handed both to McCann's nearest man. His cell phone and badge followed next, falling in a tidy pile into the black-gloved hand.

"Phone?" Danny asked, a nervous nod towards Steve as his hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly. With every fiber of his being, Danny wanted to go to him, but he didn't dare move. As for making a call to 911, they'd taken his phone, so what was he supposed to do?

"I'll do it; but I obviously need a phone," Danny said, his heart thudding so loudly in his ears that he was sure McCann could also hear it. And if he didn't hear it, the leader could certainly sense it as Danny's complexion paled and he wondered if this was already the start of a frightening lie.

Spenser smiled coyly. "What? You don't trust one of us to do it?"

"I trust any one of you about as far as I could throw you - why would I?" Danny replied, worry becoming anger as Steve quietly moaned in pain. "I'll go with you, but _I_ make the call. So ... like I said, what phone do I use?"

"Use this," McCann ordered blithely, his words prompting another of his men to idly toss a burner his way. The doctored cell phone hit Danny square in the chest and his fingers fumbled for it at first, nearly dropping the small device in his haste. "Short and sweet now, Danny. No names either … you're an anonymous caller requesting an ambulance to this address. No more, no less. It'll be enough for them to figure it all out."

"Yeah," Danny rasped. He swallowed hard, tears pricking his eyes as he dialed emergency services. His request was succinct and provided the barest of essentials, except for the grievousness of the victim having sustained a gunshot wound. Spurred on by a flux of boldness, Danny never lost eye contact with McCann as he dared to leave at least that critical information with the dispatcher. He didn't miss the look of disapproval in the man's face for his first act of real defiance when he quickly ended the call. There would be a consequence; one that Danny would shoulder, though he felt a spike of fear as McCann's gaze lingered briefly over Steve's bloody torso before settling piercingly back to him.

The man's eyes were sharp and briefly angry. Danny's heart nearly stopped at the unspoken depth of the warning so silently shared in that instance. He wavered wondering what he'd so stupidly brought down on Steve until McCann smoothly got to his feet.

"Let's go," McCann said. Danny was propelled forward to land in the midst of the small group. The burner subsequently removed from his hands. Moments later, they had all disappeared together with Danny reluctantly trailing behind Spenser McCann, leaving Steve unconscious and alone.

**_~ to be continued ~_ **


	3. Chapter 3

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Danny clambered into the SUV as instructed behind one of McCann's men. He was positioned in the rearmost seat; the very distant third row and then intentionally sandwiched next to Spenser McCann, himself, who was back to grinning from ear to ear. The SUV was impressive and apparently designed for their special use based upon the blacked-out side windows and heavy front end.

"Isn't this nice?" Spenser nearly cooed, his knee and thigh rocking tightly to Danny's own. Danny squirmed uncomfortably away from the heated warmth, but came up against the rigid wall of McCann's armed man who slammed his shoulder resentfully into him.

Spenser laughed at his reaction, a gloved hand finding Danny's knee. He sighed dramatically as he made a show of removing the finger of each black glove now that he and his team were safely out of the Five-0 Commander's home. He laid them in his lap - one neatly placed on top of the other - and smiled. With no barrier except for the material of Danny's slacks, Spenser's hand returned to its spot on the man's knee. His fingers splayed comfortably there for a longer moment before leaving him with the gentlest of pats. Danny heaved in a deep breath through his nose, his eyes a darker blue with worry as he met Spenser's steady, confident gaze.

"I'm going to tell you now to hold on to one key thought," Spenser vowed darkly. Danny held his ground – barely - as the mercenary's knuckles gently moved upwards to calmly graze his cheek. "By some stupid unexpected luck, your Commander survived the first time. Perhaps it was meant to be then ... I'm loathe to leave him alive now, however, I'm going to say this one time, and one time only, _Danno_. I won't be benevolent again. Any empathy or … softness … won't happen a second time, so you're with me now, Danno. You're going to join me on this mission; then, likely for even longer."

Danny swallowed hard as McCann's large hand fell back to his slacks, his head shaking to the negative despite how he was so beautifully trapped now. Large fingers which were spread wide, lay heavy on his thigh. Heat leaked through to his skin, nauseatingly close and entirely too familiar.

"As part of our initial venture together, I want you to get used to this," Spenser said softly, his hand lazily tracing circles from Danny's knee to his inner thigh. "Get used to _me_. I'd be much happier if you'd just accept my … attentions … resisting can be fun, but it's going to get old, _Danno_."

"Fuck you," Danny ground out, teeth and knees clenched as Spenser's hand splayed possessively over his right thigh. "It's not going to happen … ever."

"Oh it will eventually, just give it time," Spenser leered as he chose to play the words quite differently from Danny's intent. "And trust me, we have all the time in the world and I have all the means I need to make it happen. Allow me to demonstrate."

Danny briefly closed his eyes as beads of sweat tricked down his back. The air-conditioner was turned on high and the SUV was on the move, but at a very normal speed. Yet, inside, Danny was already approaching a frightful breaking point.

"What the hell do you want?" He muttered. "Why even … me?"

"Why _not_ you? But let's not digress so quickly; you have an uncanny way of changing the subject and I've promised you a demonstration of sorts. " Spenser countered. He leaned over to catch the man's eye sitting on the opposite side of Danny and gave a small wave of his hand. "Time check please."

"It's one-fifteen. So based upon her daily school schedule, she's just about starting her English class," the man lightly offered after checking his watch. "She's currently grading at a fairly respectable B+ grade point average." He paused as if searching his mind as the father sitting next to him gasped and visibly jolted from the shock of hearing the level of detail already gained on his daughter. Then he opened the tablet he'd tucked into an inner jacket pocket, flipping it open to demonstrate the live feed he had of the front steps of the Academy of the Sacred Hearts. He allowed Danny to see the images being broadcast as he calmly provided the information which his boss had requested.

"Seventh grade if I recall and the teacher's name is Mr. Henry Kama, aged thirty-two and quite popular amongst his young students."

There was a long span of time where Danny merely stared at the man in disbelief, all color draining from his face as he struggled to make sense of what had just been so blandly quoted. His eyes dropped to the tablet and the white steps to Grace's private school, but he was in denial. It was impossible. Then, for as long as that deathly silence lasted, the resultant explosion in the small space of the rear seat of the SUV was much worse.

"Sonofabitch!" Danny shouted loudly, arms flailing as he went first for Spenser who burst out laughing when Danny's fist sloppily connected with his cheek. There was limited room to maneuver and Danny was at a distinct disadvantage. Yet he zeroed in on McCann's face with a learned hatred.

"Stay away from her or I swear ... that I'll kill you!" Danny barely got the threat out when he was struck from behind. Groaning in pain and nearly whiting out, the butt of a weapon connected with the back of his skull hard enough to send him reeling.

Swiping the bruising ache on his cheek, Spenser continued to chuckle as Danny literally fell into him, the pained noise becoming a whimper of very real fear. For himself or for his young daughter, Spenser wasn't entirely sure. He only felt a thrill for the endearing sound.

"Get ... the fuck...off me," Danny panted when he felt, rather than saw, the huge hands of his second captor as he was pulled backwards by the shoulders and held firmly in place. Spenser simply chuffed a pleased laugh, before running his tongue across his teeth and lips, a look of hunger on his face. Danny's eyes pricked with tears as an unwanted finger traced his jawline before moving slowly beneath his collar. The lazy caress continued as Danny was held firmly in place, the breath of Spenser's minion loud in his ear as he was clutched to his chest. Danny closed his eyes as the first of his remaining shirt buttons was released, barely containing his nausea as his entire body trembled in abject horror. He jolted as McCann's hand toyed with the skin of his chest, stroking and exploring first one side and then the other.

Despite being over-powered, Danny couldn't help struggling as McCann's fascination grew more bold. He winced as his left arm was yanked and severely twisted behind his back while McCann merely paused to wait. The weakened muscle from his old injury wasn't ready for such abuse and he gasped, forced into submission by the deep ache. Danny grimaced as the older man's fingers returned to probe and tease each of his nipples before draping even lower, a thick thumb finding the center of his navel, where it twirled a lazy circle. McCann's voice had gone husky as he murmured his next warning almost distractedly, the gentle twirl now becoming a more painful pinch.

"You see, if _Uncle Steve_ wasn't enough for you to stay in line and give us a try, _Danno_ , perhaps using your daughter – young Grace - will be enough to provide that impetus? We _will_ have what I desire, with or without your consent, but it would be a lot more … _pleasurable_ … for you if you would simply stop resisting, petal."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	4. Chapter 4

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

“Steve? How do you feel?” After literally hours of endless pacing where his anxiety had ramped up exponentially, Chin had just gotten the go ahead from Steve's surgeon to visit him in recovery. The Asian tried to hide his feelings as he leaned over the bed, marveling at the ashen complexion and sickly hue. But Steve's eyes were more telling as they glimmered around a mix of pain, confusion and a frenetic worry. Despite the expression, Chin knew that Steve was keenly aware that something had happened and was desperate for action. And his first words proved it with ease.

"Chin," Steve whispered desperately. “Where’s … Danny?” His body was leaden, completely unresponsive to his needs and he grimaced as an attempt to move proved senselessly painful. He felt sick, grimacing against the nausea brought on not only by anesthesia, but also a growing sense of fear. Even worse than sick as only one thought came to mind upon rousing from his medically induced lethargy - all because his very last memories instantly came to the fore.

_Where the hell was Danny?_

For a time, Steve closed his eyes as images and threatening voices ricocheted in his mind. What he remembered did little to calm his thoughts. If anything, his worry skyrocketed sharply upwards.  

  
_“Drink it down Commander,” Spenser McCann had chuckled as two of his men wedged him tightly into the corner of his own living room wall. A third closing the loop with a whisky bottle in hand. “I want it all gone … every last drop.”_

_A gun had been held to his temple and another wedged tightly into his gut. His hair had been pulled back roughly as his own hand was forced upwards to his lips, his fingers wrapped tightly around the neck to the whiskey bottle by black-gloved hands._

_“Hurry now,” McCann had whispered with a sinister smile. “Your partner will be here soon. Very, very soon.”_

He had tried to refuse, sputtering and using everything in his means to fight them. But he was overpowered not by strength, but by fear. Something almost alien to the SEAL. A fear not for himself, but for a young girl with a flowing mane of brunette hair. A young girl who laughed as she ambled arm in arm with her closest friend; the remains of a half-shared mandarin clutched in one hand as her satchel swung carelessly from the other. A young girl whose image tore at his heart, silencing and stilling him as instantly as a double tap to the head, just without the bloody aftermath.

As the live feed played on the tablet held before him, the commander had done exactly as he was told. There on the floor - propped slightly against the wall of his office - he had gagged and spluttered as he downed nearly the entire bottle, the sour taste of both the liquid and the 'persuasion' churning his stomach. He had never been much of a drinker, a beer or two after work or with a meal and maybe a glass or two of the good stuff on occasion . Not like this though ... and never this fast. He was already over half way through the bottle - eyes watering and throat numb - before he had begun to feel the effect.

Spenser had patiently watched him drink, requesting he pause every so often _"We wouldn't want you puking before we could get you a little tipsy, would we now, Commander?"_ It was in those moments that Spenser had asked his enormous sidekick to detail precisely what each member of his team was doing at that very moment - all the while playing the live feed of Grace at school. The man had eyes and ears everywhere and Steve was powerless to stop any of it. By the time the bottle was almost empty, he could barely remember how to say his own name ... but apparently that didn't matter as someone else was doing that for him. There was a dim memory of noise in the background, too. A residual echo of his house being trashed. Of Danny’s voice … pleading with him from very far away.

Frightened, concerned, almost frantic.

_“Steve! I’m almost there … I’m pulling into your street right now …”_

There had been the roar of the Camaro in his driveway followed by the overwhelming sound of a single gunshot at incredibly close range. He'd been momentarily deafened as he'd stared up into the smiling eyes of the man who’d pulled the trigger. Staring in disbelief as the hot sharp pain finally registered in his brain just before his body revolted for Steve to remember … _nothing_. 

_Spenser McCann had Danny; he also had eyes on Grace._

“Oh my god. No,” Steve silently mouthed as Chin grasped his arm, worry etched across his face. Steve cringed as the painful memory became reality and he absorbed the truth without needing to have more tangible proof, wincing as he pulled on freshly tied stitches. He didn’t need to remember anything else, but he certainly recalled enough which made him squirm, his legs wanting to move as they fought a sickly, tired body.

“Steve?” Chin asked, instantly concerned at his friend’s waking reaction since it was obvious now that he did indeed remember something important. "Steve ... take it easy. Calm down."

Chin unconsciously glanced towards the monitors to briefly watch the rise and fall of brilliantly lit lines and an array of numbers before he met the stern eyes of a nearby nurse who’d been diligently watching her patient’s waking state. If things continued as they were, his visit would be duly cut short, and Chin needed time with Steve and he, with him. But their reunion would be exceedingly brief if the Five-0 Commander continued to escalate.

“Take it easy before they kick me out of here,” Chin softly coached, working hard to be the antithesis of how he was feeling inside. “What do you remember … can you tell me what happened inside your house?”

Unable to answer at first, Steve shook his head because it couldn’t have really happened, a feeling of loss and panic arching through his chest, sending a few of his monitors into a mechanical state of alarm. He didn’t remember all of it, yet he was sure that he remembered just enough about why McCann had been waiting inside his own home. ”Chin? Where's Grace? And Danny ...where is he? Tell me that they're both safe.”

"Grace is fine, but as for Danny, we just don't know. We haven't been able to track him down yet, Steve," Chin softly replied, his brow furrowing in consternation as new implications came to light. The scene inside Steve’s home had been staged to his astute mind, yet the doctors had found a more than significant amount of alcohol in his friend’s bloodstream. Chin’s frown deepened as previously inconsistent clues slowly began to click into place.

“Was Danny with you? When we couldn’t reach him, Kono finally ran the GPS on the Camaro. We found it in the parking lot to a supermarket with the keys still in the ignition,” Chin said as he heaved in a deep worried breath when Steve’s face completely altered, ashen skin now completely colorless. He wanted to stop at that point, yet he was forced to continue speaking albeit slowly and with a great deal of trepidation.

“Danny’s badge, cell phone and weapon were left on the rear seat. The damned thing was parked just beyond range of the surveillance cameras. Our team in forensics went over every inch of that car with a fine-toothed comb, but found nothing. We’ve got nothing, Steve. Not a damned thing. There’s been no word from him … no sign of him. I've got an APB out, but don't know what to think."

"Shit," Steve briefly closed his eyes, his breathing labored when he realized he was right and that his team knew absolutely nothing. But he knew ... he knew without a single doubt the only reason why the Camaro would be parked so complacently at a benign supermarket. Steve wanted to scream in frustration at the truth of it. He was newly upset, exasperated and just hanging on to his last fringes of hope.

“Steve, we don’t know what happened to you. Can you tell me if Danny was with you at some point? Do you know who did this?” Chin was utterly confused as Steve murmured almost inconsolably to himself, things which he couldn’t hear at all. The Camaro’s location was much too far from Steve’s house to mean much and yet, there had to be a definite connection.

“How long?" Steve asked suddenly, his throat closing as his chest similarly constricted. He blinked through a rise in frustrated tears, his original concern mounting in spades. The answer to his question would substantiate how long his partner had been with the maniacal mercenary. "Chin … how long has it been?"

"About six hours … almost seven,” Chin admitted worriedly as he tried to read Steve’s expression and guess between the lines as to where his friends disjointed thoughts might be going.

"Dispatch reported an anonymous call about gunshots at your home address. We were immediately contacted … we found you in a setup that was meant to look like a suicide attempt. Your house was ransacked as if you'd intentionally done it yourself and … the whiskey? But … this is you … and who the hell tries to commit suicide by shooting themselves in the stomach? Steve, what the hell happened?”

“Seven hours,” Steve whispered distractedly as his medically befuddled brain tried to rationalize the length of time and what had likely happened. He blinked his eyes in rapid succession, confused and barely able to focus. “Seven?”

“Steve? Do you know who did this?” Chin repeated, pushing harder now as his own desperation grew based on Steve’s obvious rise in panic.

"He's got Danny," Steve whispered almost to himself. “McCann.” His general level of distraction also communicating his incredulous disbelief. The resultant feelings of anger - and even fear - nearly wrecked his voice because what was happening simply couldn't be true. Yet it was and Chin would easily understand the ramifications. "He has him … he lured him to my place. They could be anywhere by now.”

“Who?” Chin, leaned closer unsure of what he thought he’d heard, his urgency palpable as he dug his fingers into Steve’s arm to draw his gaze back. He shook his head in disbelief not wanting to really have Steve clarify what he’d just said. Afraid that he’d already heard the truth. “Who was it … who has Danny, Steve?”

“Spenser McCann," Steve finally pushed out through clenched teeth. "Ambushed … he forced the whiskey on me … I don’t really know what happened after that … but it was Spenser McCann with four … maybe five of his men. He's got Danny ... he's had him for all of these last seven hours, Chin. Where the hell is Grace? You better tell me that she's okay and safe."

“McCann! What? INTERPOL pegged him in Dubai," Chin hissed uncontrollably, still stunned to his core by what Steve was revealing. "He's … here?”

Heaving in a lungful of air, Chin dragged his hands down his face. McCann. It just couldn’t be him. And yet, now it all made perfect sense. The first HPD units on the scene thought it a suicide attempt based on the setup and sheer lack of evidence to anything else. With Danny missing and the Camaro abandoned, someone else had the unfortunate gall to even float the idea that one partner had shot the other in a fit of temper. Chin had railed loudly against both ridiculous theories so much so, that any HPD officer was giving him a completely wide berth.

But this, with _Spenser McCann_? He'd felt the worst inside, but hadn't wanted to go down this particular road. It was too soon … much too soon after the first run-in. Because of McCann’s attack on The Palace and HPD headquarters, they had no real formal offices yet to speak of and were working out of cramped, but serviceable modular trailers. Equipment was rudimentary in comparison to what they were all used to. Chin, especially, mourned the loss of the powerful smart table inside the large war room. From common bathrooms to the lack of a cafeteria, quarters were tight. Morale was low across the board, yet now improving in direct conjunction to construction which was finally ramping up in earnest. But, like a lost band of gypsies, none of them were comfortable with their combined situation and Danny was barely back on his feet.

"Grace ... Chin he's ..."

"She's fine, Steve. When we couldn't reach Danny, we picked her up at cheerleading practice and that was hours ago." Chin paused not knowing where to look for a moment before he shared an unhappy fact. "There was a drone in the area when Kono and two HPD units picked her up. The coaches were trying to get the children under cover; but there definitely was a drone and we can't find the operator."

In absolute frustration, Steve punched his fist into the mattress. The whole situation reeked of Spenser McCann and his devious methods. Things had happened much too quickly and they'd all been completely blind-sided despite a firm belief in their preparedness.

"Where is she now?" Steve asked. “Not at the offices, right?” He was unable to hide his worry, nor his spike in fear not only because their temporary offices were so essentially unsafe. He needed to know precisely where Grace was to ensure her safety and then focus on finding her father.

“No, he needs to stay,” Steve insisted breathlessly. “This is critical.” He then ignored the nurses who suggested now that Chin leave for their injured patient’s welfare and Steve gestured firmly that Chin do the same and remain with him until they'd finished speaking.

With an apologetic nod towards one of the nurses, Chin pressed his lips together, torn by his duties. Steve was decidedly doing poorly now and he also didn't wish to continue for his sake, but Steve was as adamant for him to stay as the nurse was for him to leave. Vowing to be quick, Chin chose words which were meant to offer at least some relief. He too was angry though. Angry with himself for not putting the clues together to come up with Spenser McCann as their attacker. He'd believed the reports which INTERPOL had shared and so, he simply hadn't gone beyond setting the wheels in motion to protect Danny's family when their detective came up missing.

"She's been with Kono ever since; Rachel's on her way back from Las Vegas. We have all the info on her flights and HPD will be waiting for her when she lands. I’m not going to lie. Grace originally did spend some time at HQ and now, Kono's taken her home which we both felt was more secure. We've got two unmarked units at Kono’s and once I leave you, I'm joining her there. She's already got an ad hoc field office set up and there's nothing that we can't do there at this point."

“Good," Steve answered wearily. His head suddenly felt as if it might explode along with the significant rise in his heartbeat. He heard the monitors reacting over his head as he fisted the bed sheet, rending the fabric uselessly as his apprehension grew. "That's good, Chin."

McCann didn't quite have a direct interest in Grace or Danny's family. The mercenary was all about a show of power which abetted his appetite for manipulation and control. Whatever he flaunted in front of Danny would certainly be more than enough to manage his partner. Past experience had proven that simple fact.

Even while he was in surgery, his team and HPD had been caring for the obvious necessities despite not being completely in the know. Grace was under protection and a BOLO had been dutifully issued for Danny. Still, he was only slightly mollified since no one had assumed McCann. Therefore, much more could have been done and could still be positioned against them ... used as a tool to force Danny along a certain path. They needed to cut the man's intel off at the knees and then bring Danny home.

"Wait," Steve murmured tiredly, his eyes squinting upwards to meet a nurse's warning gaze when he felt the activity increasing by his bedside. He hadn’t realized that his eyes had even closed as his brain swirled relentlessly. With that unconscious move, he’d earned himself additional medication and would be forced to rest regardless of his wishes.

"McCann's entrenched here and he's got eyes everywhere; including on Grace. Scour Danny's house and before Rachel gets back, check the Edwards' house out from top to bottom for bugs and then call INTERPOL." Steve clenched his jaw tightly and then closed his eyes as a wave of pain stole his breath. “Have HPD increase their presence at command. Take no risks.”

Steve coughed uncomfortably, wincing in pain and unable to bite back the hiss which escaped his lips. He didn't have time for his own ills; however his body certainly had other ideas, as did his medical caregivers. The nurse above him was now tutting unhappily over his blood pressure and apparent flux in pain.

"On it," Chin said with a bitter tone, because he never considered McCann as part of the dangerous mix. For one, they couldn't trust INTERPOL's Intel which meant that they didn't know when McCann and his team had even arrived. And then besides the immediate attack on Five-0, there was the man's true mission because something other than Danny had made him return. An important mission which INTERPOL would need to manage and that they would now demand inclusion in as it related to one of their own.

"Get in touch with the Governor and then Agent LaRouche." Steve shook his head at Chin's self-recrimination, not wanting an apology, only action as he filled in the major gaps which his team had been blind to. Besides, what had happened to Danny was entirely his blame - his responsibility - to have let his guard down and be used as the bait in McCann's schemes.

"Set INTEPOL straight … get them here. Get started working together and don't back down; I want to know everything they know down to the smallest of details. Engage the Governor there if you need to, along with any other Agency we might need at our disposal. We've got a state of emergency … as well as an abduction," Steve gasped the last words out, his face now entirely without color. He was sweating and his nausea was increasing the more he attempted to fight the after-effects of having had major surgery.

"Take it easy. I'll set all the wheels in motion and be back to feed you whatever we learn," Chin responded, moving quickly now since his original feelings of anxiety were incredibly much worse. He’d wrongly assumed that seeing Steve would calm some of his stress. He’d been astonishingly wrong on all counts. “It’s not just at the command center either. You can count on having a detail here at your door, too. Just in case.”

Chin's voice might have been calm, yet his internal emotions continued to escalate and it was a struggle to fight with reason as he jogged from the recovery room. His feelings were indescribable as he relived the personal horror that had been Spenser McCann’s first sojourn to Oahu. He'd met the man personally along with Danny. He'd been subjected to and had experienced the one-on-one butting of heads which he'd originally not recognized as a sexual tension.

That first meeting had occurred during the man’s well-constructed first mission and it had nearly destroyed both HPD and Five-0 as agencies. But so much more had happened when it came not only to nearly losing his own life, but the man’s odd growing infatuation with Danny.

Spenser McCann had vowed to return to complete the second half of his vague mission. Something which INTERPOL was keenly interested in heading off as it related to the biochemist, Doctor Mercier, and yet, that agency had obviously missed something critically important.

Dubai. McCann was reported as being there with particular members of his team, of most note, his dangerous Second and lover, Dylan Walker. INTERPOL agents had been above board in keeping in touch with the Hawaiian agencies, the FBI and the State Department. Lines of communication were spread wide open. Yet their intel was grievously wrong and Chin didn’t understand it; though, knowing of McCann’s genius-level militaristic measures, he shouldn’t be so surprised that he’d orchestrated his return so well.

Chin’s shocked brain could scarcely take in that not only was the man on the Island, but he’d already struck … and struck hard.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	5. Chapter 5

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

His first attempt to get up happened while Chin was still on hospital grounds and he had the absolute gall to still be in the recovery room. Steve rolled a quarter of the way to his opposite side and nearly fainted from the onslaught of pain. Sweat beaded across his brow as he fell back, the same nurse now duly annoyed and intercepting any other move he might attempt with threats of actually using restraints. The threat was entirely idle, but it proved the recovery teams' rising frustration with his conduct.

Steve rocked his arm over his eyes, blocking out the overhead lights and what seemed to be a swarm of people around him. Two nurses and evidently now his own surgeon by the sounds of their disapproving comments and discussion regarding more than simple pain management. Sweat pooled in the apex of his throat and he could feel the hard off-kilter thump of his pulse in his head. But while he heard his doctor and sensed the medical teams' concern, he didn't precisely hear a single word they were saying. He pushed aside his discomfort to remain mired in replaying a terrible truth over and over in his head.

Danny had fared okay after Spenser McCann's first damnable visit to the Island. But only after Steve had forced his partner to get certain things off his chest. Just a few long weeks ago, Danny had sworn nothing had happened between himself and the band's commanding officer. A few stray, illicit touches ... a rude parting kiss with a promise to return.

Yet those not so simple nothings had left an indelible mark on Danny's psyche. Until Steve had forced him to talk, Danny had little to say about the matter except that nothing had happened. The lie had almost seemed believable if one didn't look for the subtle clues or remain in a state of hyper vigilance.

Even more than Chin, Steve knew better. He knew so much more. After helping Danny to reason out his feelings through a direct confrontation, only then did he really seem to calm down. To settle. The team had his back. Steve in particular would always have his back.

Despite his promises, Steve had failed Danny. He'd failed in the worst possible ways and now, he was trapped on his back in another hospital precisely as he had been the first time.

"I can't be here," he murmured into his arm, eyes closed and his chest tight with stress. The older mercenary had done just enough to affect his partner. The sly touches, the soft innuendos had been more than enough for his partner to receive a very clear message. And now McCann had come in under the radar. He'd blindsided all of them and Steve knew that Danny had gone crashing helplessly back in time. According to his own very solemn vows nothing would ever happen if McCann dared set foot back on Hawaiian sands. Yet, he'd failed and Steve felt a very real fear leaking in to thwart those promises. He couldn't help Danny and McCann's sickly intentions for his best friend could very well now become blatant fact.

He heaved in a shuddered breath when his body argued his forgetfulness to breathe, pain lancing across his abdomen. With the amount of time which had passed, it could already be too late. Steve knew even better now because he'd finally met Spenser McCann face to face and within the confines of his own home. Unconscious and injured, he'd missed that honor during the man's initial visit to the Islands.

Steve fidgeted helplessly, his face wracked with anger and grief as that memory replayed in his head. He'd been played and then used as bait. He had no doubt that Spenser McCann was gloating over that triumphant win, especially because it had been so damnably easy.

_"As long as you managed to live," McCann had angrily sneered. "You'll serve a purpose for me now."_

_The C.O. had arrogantly approached while three of his men patiently restrained him. A strong commanding officer nose-to-nose with his younger peer. McCann had sniffed in amusement at the drunken haze. Then his eyes had hardened, while his hand had dared stray under Steve's shirt and across the skin of his chest._

_It was then that Steve completely understood each and every sickened response voiced by his partner. He'd cringed and struggled to get away, failing time and again as McCann strayed lower to splay his fingers wide just above the waistline of his jeans. It had been a possessive gesture … full of heat and innuendo … and as Danny had so notably voiced … entirely wrong._

_"Very nice, Commander," Spenser had grinned, his fingers tap-dancing up and down across Steve's abdomen and chest. "Not quite my type though."_

Even now, Steve still felt McCann's breath on his face and the lurid way in which his fingers had pandered across his chest.

A sense of raw power. Domination. _Ownership_. McCann didn't even _want_ him and Steve felt the personal invasion.

"God, Danny. I'm sorry." Steve kept his eyes closed behind the safety of his arm, only his lips moving as he whispered his pleas. He felt as if he'd failed his partner yet again and now, it was ten times worse. "Hang on, buddy. We're coming ... we'll find you."

So much had happened in such a terribly short window of time and he was stunned. _Grace. Danny._ His own injuries now which left him stranded in the hospital. All of it was more than he could mentally digest.

_"Get the fuck off me," he'd growled as McCann's fingers continually caressed his skin, his fury growing despite the surge of dizziness caused by his growing drunken stupor._

_McCann had merely laughed. He'd actually giggled in apparent glee as his fingers left Steve's body to get clasped comfortably together, his smile growing in delight._

_"Danno said that once! Those were Danno's words exactly!" He'd laughed much too happily at the similarity, before intentionally dolling out his next words laced with a calm threat. "But sadly, you're not him … so yes, I'll get off you … until I can get off on him."_

The man was stunningly sharp and incredibly insane. Steve was exhausted and in pain, but couldn't shut his brain down. Everything that had happened was his fault. His blame to shoulder for being so naively unprepared. Despite hazy memories, he remembered most of the horrifying experience just before he'd been shot. There had been the issue of Grace and the live video feed ... but then McCann had persisted in touching _him_.

McCann manipulated his world to his own methods. Beginning with the rude use of Danny's special nickname, Steve had struggled anew as the words had sunk into his muddled brain. Danny's number one fear was Grace and McCann's incredible knowing of his nickname … and there it had been. Touted and flaunted for Steve's sake with the utmost familiarity, but the final words had practically sent him into a mental cartwheel.

_"What the f-fuck did you just s-say?" Steve had ground out, his muscles growing much too languid for the volume of whiskey forced on him. He blinked wildly as his vision swam and he strained harder, nowhere near to breaking free but more than willing to try for Danny's sake. To keep both his best friend, and his young daughter, safe._

_"What the fuck ... did ... you say?" Steve had heaved in a choked breath of air, his words had been adamant but a ragged cough had nearly ruined their import. "S-stay the hell away ... f-from him!"_

_There had been a pregnant pause, one where the only sound left in the room was Steve's continued rasping attempts to breathe in order to regain his composure. The standoff had ended though with a condescending stroke of Steve's cheek. McCann had raised a quizzical eyebrow as his cool hand caressed the side of Steve's face. As if calming a panicked child. As if soothing a wounded animal though Steve had held his ground with a stalwart growl of anger._

_"No, I won't," McCann had finally replied with a simple tilt of his head, the smile evaporating in an instant. His tone was deathly even and suddenly very quiet as he voiced his final comment. "He's mine."_

_"You sick son of a bitch!" Steve had tried to shout only to find a hand placed firmly over his mouth to effectively silence him._

_"Interesting response, Commander." McCann had quirked a quizzical eye. Thoughtful and equally devious, he'd then nodded as if understanding something once elusive. "I see. I knew you to be loyal partners. But how close are you really to Danno that I could use you like this to get him ... and vice versa? Such a fierce loyalty to him as well? More than partners or even mere friends perhaps? Yes, I think much closer than I'd even known or suspected. Much closer. Like brothers … or dare I say, even more?"_

Steve remembered the sly look. The absolute pleasure which had creased the wrinkles around his adversary's eyes. Then his own spike in fear as the ploy escalated when McCann had truly realized that his station as commander of Five-0, Danny's boss, and Grace's Uncle Steve were much more than standard honorific titles. They each meant something to the other; they were in fact true family.

_"Danny? Danno!" McCann had slurred his speech then and Steve had been stunned by the appearance of a small handheld device. Sickened by how it had warped and altered McCann's voice to a decent facsimile of his own. But his head had begun to spin from the forced liquor and Steve had been slow on the uptake, watching through blurred vision and not realizing entirely that Danny had really been called until his friend's voice came in loud and clear over the hands-free speaker._

_"I thought … but, Danno … no, I just can't," McCann moaned, his eyes twinkling mischievously down into Steve's incredulous pair. He'd played his false role well as a man gagged Steve with one strong hand placed over his mouth, another effectively strangling his neck to cut off his air supply._

_"I can't do it anymore. I thought I could, but I just can't …"_

Eyes wide and completely helpless, Steve had tried to struggle despite an inability to breathe. Legs flailing wildly, he'd strained hard but had been too overwhelmed by sheer numbers and the effects of alcohol to prevent what would eventually happen next. He'd begun to weaken in earnest, his vision darkening as he was denied even more oxygen. Yet he could still hear and his mind screamed at McCann to stop; for some divine providence to protect Danny from the last few steps of his fateful journey. But the last things which Steve remembered were the roar of the Camaro literally sliding into his driveway, followed by the too close sound of a gun being fired and the searing heat which sent him spiralling down.

Those final moments had been the pièce de résistance used to urge his panicked partner to run directly into Spenser McCann's well-laid trap. Steve had been the bait and Danny had never hesitated. Not once. Why would he have?

"Danno," Steve murmured plaintively as sweat soaked from his forehead, into the sleeve of his thin hospital gown. More dotted his neck as his fingers began to shake from a true emotional stress. "I'm sorry."

He argued his condition again and his legs moved under the sheet, knees slightly bent while one hand wrapped around the metal frame of the gurney. He had to leave. He had no choice. But those weak movements were as far as he managed to get. Voices came more quickly as his vitals spiked and an ill-timed gasp of pain burst from his mouth.

His eyes had never opened, and Steve only heard the increasing buzz of activity humming around his bed as his breath shuddered tightly in his throat. His arm was insistently moved aside so a nasal cannula could be positioned to provide more oxygen. Mired in place, at the whim of medical staff, Steve didn't respond to any questions from his surgeon nor move as the nurses fussed and catered to his body's increasing objections. Instead, Steve felt the warmth of a sedative entering his right arm and he lost awareness to the sound of Spenser McCann's voice whispering evil promises inside his head.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	6. Chapter 6

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Put those on," Spenser said, motioning to the scant pile of clothes left on the bed in the master suite. His voice was dangerously firm and brooked no argument. "Change out of everything you're wearing. _Now_. Consider Leon here your personal … valet. He'll be with you at all times."

Danny warily glanced to Leon. From his height to his sheer rock-solid breadth, the man was intimidating merely by his presence. Where his friend, Kamekona was similarly just as large in girth, Leon added significant muscle to Kamekona's substantial softness. Because of that fact, he didn't seem to quite need the automatic weapon which he held so casually in his hand. Proven when Danny had tried to make a run for it in the parking garage between the large SUV and the penthouse's private elevator lift. He'd been roughly manhandled and felled by a meaty fist scarcely within two steps of nearly twisting from the bodyguard's grip. The man wasn't only large, he was deceivingly agile.

But McCann would make a mistake and he'd try again. Danny fidgeted in place, lost in those thoughts for a moment until he realized no one had moved. The look on Spenser's face was indescribable as Danny realized he was meant to strip right then and there.

"You've got to be kidding me!" He couldn't help shouting at McCann. His furious lunge towards the man brought to an immediate rest by Leon's fist. Again, he'd misjudged the bodyguard and Danny gurgled as hard knuckles connected with his jaw. The blow was intentionally light based upon what Leon was undeniably capable of, but it still brought Danny down to a knee.

"Time check," Spenser sighed regrettably, seemingly almost bored by needing to voice this particular reminder. Leon smirked as his eyes never left Danny's face, the reddened mark deepening in contrast as blood drained from Danny's cheeks. The big man wasn't holding the tablet, but he knew Grace's schedule well enough by rote.

"Four thirty-two, boss," Leon provided. "She's at cheerleading practice with nine of her other little friends. The coach is out sick today, Emily Peters. So the assistant coach is running the girls through their paces. There's a competition in two weeks …"

"Stop," Danny pleaded hoarsely. "Just … _stop_. I can't do this … you can't keep bringing Grace into this … please … _please_ … stay away from my daughter."

He staggered to his feet, using the bed to avoid crashing down again in his devastation. Not only did McCann know too much, he had eyes dedicated to his daughter's every move. He was rightly and truly trapped as he turned his back to the two men, sloppily kicked off his shoes, shed his rumpled clothing and reached for the soft pants.

"No, you didn't listen clearly enough to what I said. Put those down because I meant everything," Spenser sneered when Danny grabbed at the pants. "I want all of your clothing gone; all of it."

Keeping his back turned to the men, Danny cursed under his breath before dropping the pants. His fingers were shaking as he hooked his fingers under the elastic waistband to his black boxer-briefs.

"You're a fucking maniac," he ground out, yanking off his underwear and then grabbing up the sleep pants once more to quickly cover himself in what Spenser had deemed … _better_.

The light blue t-shirt was soft, comfortable and very thin - as were the flimsy but well-made dove-gray sleep pants. Characteristics of which Danny didn't register because he felt more exposed than ever before. Unable to speak, Danny turned to face McCann when he finished re-dressing, stuck by the side of the bed with his old clothes pooled in a pile at his feet. He didn't know what to do next. He wavered in place, blinked and then eventually bent down, hands shaking to retrieve his shoes, but McCann stopped him.

"No shoes, Danno," McCann grinned as Leon walked forward, purposefully pushing Danny back away from his belongings. "I fear I have to repeat myself yet again, but when I said everything, I meant it. So ditch the socks, too. Barefoot's fine … you're not going anywhere you'll need them."

"You're not going to get away with this," Danny ground out. His frustration and sense of feeling trapped growing with every passing second. With a simple change of clothing, he now had nothing which originally belonged to him. "I'm not … you can't … this is crazy."

He had to fight to control himself despite Leon's looming form only inches from where he stood, resentful when the man simply waited for the last two articles of his clothing to drop from his body. Completely frustrated by a growing entrapment, Danny backed up, hitting the side table so hard the small lamp rocked dangerously on end. Still, Leon grinned and waited as he straddled the pile of clothing on the floor, forcing Danny to once more do as he'd been told.

"Now what?" Danny asked as he dropped each sock to the carpet. "What's your next damned game, McCann?" Hands wadded into tight fists, he was breathing hard through an illogical nausea, and felt literally naked as Spenser leered happily his way.

"Ah, a game! I think we should relax. It's been a long day, yes?" Spenser happily held his hand out, beckoning Danny to come out from his corner to walk with him. "There's a good football game on right now … Manchester … and by the way, it's _Spense_. Not McCann … such a terrible sign of disrespect. To me."

Spenser McCann's voice had changed, as had his eyes. But even when Leon moved aside, Danny couldn't find his feet to equal the threat. "Say it," McCann ordered softly, eyes darkening in anger and promise if not obeyed. "What's my name?"

"Spense," Danny replied more weakly than he'd hoped to sound as Leon glanced meaningfully at his watch. The threat was clear. There'd be another time check as the man continually proved his omnipotence regarding Grace's every move and he shook his head in frustration before brokenly compounding what the man wanted to hear. "Okay. Sure. Fine … _Spense_."

"Good. Now come along," the mercenary demanded. "Let's get more acquainted."

Danny silently padded behind McCann, his heart thudding loudly in his ears with Leon nearly treading on his bare heels. He itched to move, run. Fists clenched, he kept his eyes and ears open, cataloging every nook and cranny of the penthouse and gauging Leon's vigilance. Danny knew though some of McCann's team were there and he wanted to cringe as he was pushed deeper into the posh layout. He could hear the men talking in the main room. Still, he memorized the layout inside his head. The doors, bedrooms and what even might be closets or other inadvertent dead-ends. Determined to find a method to orchestrate an escape, he noted everything and yet seemed to be left with woefully few options.

Beyond the hallway and as they entered the main living area of the penthouse suite was a large bank of windows overlooking the cityscape. A vast expanse of pristine white clouds and distant brilliant hues of too many blues followed them along. Wanting to curse, Danny only shook his head, sickened that he knew precisely where he was as they essentially hid in plain sight in Waikiki.

As they entered the living room, Danny registered the three others who ranged comfortably around the sizable space. Beyond them, was a long mahogany dining room table next to a brightly lit kitchen. Danny eyed everyone warily as he was pushed along to join their ranks. While no one's guard was completely down, it was clear that a semblance of quietude was acceptable.

"Boss, everything okay?' One asked, the driver of their casually driven SUV, if Danny remembered correctly. He was tall, thin and dark-skinned. Underneath his slim build though was a promise of agile strength and cunning. He eyed the bruise on Danny's chin, meeting his defensive glare with an ironclad indifference for his very existence.

"Couldn't be better," Spenser confirmed. He looked around the room with a comfortable ease which made Danny realize that the penthouse was indeed like home; all of these men had been there before. And many times by their overly confident and relaxed demeanors. He nodded in appreciation towards the large food cart, silver domes still neatly in place. Crystal glassware and a carafe of what appeared to be plain water with a number of fruit juices were arranged on a highboy. Nearby, the liquor cabinet and bar were fully stocked with fine selections. But where Spenser was complimentary, Danny was hardly impressed, and even less so when Spenser next spoke.

"Leon stays," Spenser said calmly as he eased comfortably down into a corner of the large, plush leather couch. He was in an exceedingly good humor, and utterly relaxed as he dismissed his core team. "But you three get the rest of the day off; meet at the rendezvous tomorrow morning as discussed."

"Thanks, boss. We appreciate that. Have a good night … don't enjoy yourselves too much," the driver smirked with a parting glance sent Danny's way as he and his two peers ambled from the penthouse, disappearing quickly with a gentle snap of the distant main door.

"You're not going to get away with this. You're completely insane if you think you can even try," Danny repeated, as he backed away from the two men. If he'd felt overwhelmed with the entirety of McCann's team surrounding him, he felt ten times more exposed with just the leader and one bodyguard. Nervous and tense, he was suddenly even more claustrophobic than he ever had been in his life and he almost wished the others had stayed.

"My dear boy, I already have gotten away ... _well_ ... with you," Spenser chuckled, a devilish glean lighting his eyes. "Now, be good and fetch yourself a drink. Then have a seat here next to me … the game's coming on and I've an important bet riding on this match. We can watch a bit ... talk a bit ... I can fill you in a few things which might be of interest to you. For example, the reasons behind our last visit here and what we intend to accomplish now."

"No." Danny flatly refused, continuing to back away until he was on the opposite side of the large room. His back was to the large high definition wall-mounted television unit which was already on and broadcasting McCann's sports channel. But the event was muted and the flickering light offered a weird contrast to Danny's raised hands, fingers splayed wide as he tried to keep his distance from them. His mind raced through a messy plan of action. It was all he'd have to try and it would have to be enough. He'd need to go through Leon and McCann to gain the hallway and then the outer door to the private lobby and elevator. But the emergency stairwell would provide a secondary option.

"I can't. I've had enough … I'm not going to listen to you or do what you want. I can't do this. It's not going to happen," Danny vowed angrily.

"Hmmm," Spenser purred, his eyes narrowing as he measured Danny's defensive stance. "Are you already forgetting about your daughter?"

"No," Danny breathed out, his voice hardly above a whisper. "Never." He most certainly wasn't forgetting Grace; not by a long shot. But trapped and quite literally backed into a corner, he was torn on how to react.

"Good. You had me wondering there for a moment, pet. Because such forgetfulness regarding anything related to your precious little girl would be completely unlike you," Spenser noted bluntly as a small disapproving sneer flit across his face.

"So, then. Let's move on because I'd hoped to fill you in on the mission ... find a fit for you at my side. An initiation of sorts ... to show you how well we could work together ... as a team ...you'll have everything you've ever wanted or needed ...more money than you could ever imagine." McCann raised his arms wide as if to demonstrate what he might offer, but Danny seemed unable to even try to listen with a clinically detached mind.

"You could be the father you always wanted to be. You could give little Grace anything she ever wanted at the drop of a hat and not have to compete with your ex-wife's new husband. How would that feel, Danno? Your kid wants a pony? Done. Best college education? Done." Spense grinned before he added with a sly tone, "Or, you want full custody? Done, again. No fuss ... no muss with the Edwards clan and certainly, no questions asked."

"No," Danny interrupted, ignoring the annoyance which flashed across McCann's face. He was too stunned by what McCann had first called him. Then dumbfounded by the reference to Stan Edwards and far too many illicit ideas. It was now abhorrently clear where McCann had first learned of Grace's nickname. In fact, it was more than apparent that McCann simply knew too much about himself and his family.

Danny shook his head, a hard swallow forced around a throat which seemed to have gone permanently dry. "No, I'm not interested in working with you or for you. In fact, I don't want to be anywhere _near_ you, McCann!"

He dwelled on Grace and fretted about Steve. If he'd managed to function even on a higher professional plane, Danny should've taken the opportunity with that opening to get more information out of the mercenary. Intel concerning the criticality of why he and his team had virtually destroyed the palace and then, why he'd now come back so very soon. But Danny was decidedly off his game as sweat pooled around his neck despite the air-conditioned chill of the suite. He was already nauseous from the rise in tension as he gauged McCann's knowledge about his daughter and plans for himself. Mired mentally and physically, he continued to back up until he could go no more, his posture entirely defensive and more than willing to fight.

"Alright, you seem rather ... upset. We'll talk more when you're calmer and more amenable to this subject," McCann said too softly. He was angry, something which only Leon seemed to recognize as the big man outwardly winced.

"Come sit with me ... we'll watch ..."

"What are you? Deaf, McCann? Fuck off," Danny interrupted him again. His voice just as quiet and dangerous with his knuckles whitening as he clenched his fists in preparation. His body was strung and slightly bent at the waist as he eyed each man and glanced just once towards the hallway. In reality, he'd probably never make it, but he'd die trying. "I'm not doing a god-dammed thing you want."

"Mind yourself," Leon growled in warning. "Boss?' His fists clenched as he glanced towards his boss for direction. It was easy to see that things were escalating quickly and he'd need to step in to manage the irate detective.

"Danny, Danny, Danny, such obstinacy," McCann oozed in false pleasure, proven by his gritted teeth and the flash of anger in his eyes. "So stubborn... when it could be so much nicer for the two of us."

He growled under his breath as he faked a sad shake of his head. "So bellicose, Danny." What he said next was posed as a frustrated question, yet he approved what he was getting that very moment. "Are we going to fight every step of the way?"

As Leon had identified, he was angry, yes, but in truth, he remained intrigued and even somewhat pleased by the complexity of Danny's emotions and determination to find ways to argue despite his threats. McCann thoroughly enjoyed the challenge of such a cat and mouse interplay. It was attractive to him and very much like a prolonged type of foreplay which would come to a fruition in his own bed.

McCann fidgeted where he sat, the excitement making him ache with a sexual need as he watched sweat bead across the younger man's upper lip. He grinned in pleasure as his eyes flicked to the shirt which he'd picked out specifically for his new … _toy_. The soft material clinging in all the right places across Danny's chest and hanging 'just so' at his narrow waistline. McCann leaned forward in appreciation. It was a blatant move which lost zero significance on Danny as he froze in place, chest heaving and eyes seemingly forever wide in their stunned reaction.

"Stay the fuck away from me," Danny hissed out. But McCann only leered at him as he palmed his crotch.

The original plan was to pounce on his prey after the mission was completed and not before; but he'd been ten hours ahead of INTERPOL's intelligence which pegged him as still being in Dubai. The authorities were all in the dark and he'd seized his opening as he always did. So now, while he had what - no _who_ \- he wanted and had even erroneously fantasized about the younger man playing an active role in his plans, his detective was indeed going to be problematic.

"Well, I guess now's not the time anyway," McCann murmured regretfully. With no recourse but to be heavy-handed in order to display his power and exercise immediate control, McCann scowled darkly as his mood instantly altered. He didn't have time for discourse, argument or additional banter, what he'd done so prematurely would cause enough issue once his Dylan arrived on site with his own small contingent. Spenser knew precisely what would happen with his beloved second beginning with a raw emotional reaction, down to the blatant fact that having the detective so very prematurely would cause a distinct distraction to the strict objectives of their mission.

"I promised you that I'd be returning. Did you think that I was joking? I promised that I'd come back to see you and that we'd have the opportunity to spend quality time together, but I didn't think you'd have such a ... _problem_ , Danno," McCann noted warningly, his face oddly blank though. "I'm quite likeable when you get to know me."

"Seriously?" Danny snorted, a wry smile actually touching one side of his lips. "You think that you're ... likeable? Well let me tell you something, McCann, I don't have a problem," he ground out, easily understanding McCann's suggestion and shaking his head in response.

"Nope. Not a single one ... except for you. I have all kinds of _problems_ when it comes to you and what you stand for ... what you do to get whatever it is you want. How you hurt and abuse people along the way ... you're an egomaniac and absolutely, certifiably insane!"

Danny's voice had slowly risen in volume as his emotions kicked in with each passing syllable, all of which countered the fury of the storm looming in Spenser McCann's eyes. Taking a hidden cue from his boss, Leon had moved closer and Danny was undeniably going to have to fight, and he readied himself for what was to come.

"You should pay some heed to that reputation," Spenser warned him softly. "And while I do like games, I currently don't have the luxury of time. Plus, I don't want to play all of this the hard way. Leon? Help me out please."

"Yes, Sir." Leon smirked as he palmed his tablet back into his hands from where he'd left it on an end-table. He flipped the protective cover open, his grin growing as the televised sports venue showing on the large HD TV changed to something more ... entertaining.

"Turn around and take a look," Spenser demanded as the picture came online, smiling when he saw the large grassy field. There was no sound but it was still a delightful scene. He chuckled softly as squads of young girls ran about shouting and practicing cheerleading routines in a delightful chaotic riot.

"She's off to the right there," McCann purred innocently. "White and red uniform? Brunette? Ponytail. Yes?"

Danny turned, stumbling over his own two feet when he backed away from the large screen. His eyes widened in horror as he instantly zeroed in on Grace.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	7. Chapter 7

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Turn it off," he whispered in shock as he saw her silent laugh, shared amongst the team of girls. "Off ... turn the god-damned thing _off_ , McCann!" The view was dizzying in its elevation, but worse in its clarity. McCann had a drone hovering over his daughter's cheerleading practice which meant he at least had someone nearby operating the mechanical device. Perhaps others too, ready to scoop her up at a moment's demand.

"Uh, uh, uh!" Spenser chortled, his finger raised warningly in Danny's direction. "What's my name, Danno? If you can't at least remember that much, this is going to be a very long, hard road for you."

The buzzing intensified in Danny's ears as he stared at Grace, unable to tear his eyes away from the larger than life screen. He didn't hear Spenser McCann at all; not a solitary word as his breath hung dangerously in his throat.

"I'm going ... to kill you!" Danny suddenly shouted. His voice grated harshly from an unbidden flux of emotional stress. "Get that thing away from her! Stay the hell away from my daughter!"

His hands clenched into tight fists as McCann laughed behind him. Seated on the large plush couch, the mercenary was only amused by his promise and entertained by his very much expected reaction. Angered more, Danny whirled around, needing less than three steps to close the distance on the seated leader. "You're a dead man!"

"No, no I don't think so. You're not going to kill me," McCann blandly stated. "You're going to calm down, sit next to me and enjoy our first evening together. Don't challenge me on this, Danno. It won't bode well for you ... or for your little girl."

Danny hesitated for a hairsbreadth, but he was too far gone at that point. His emotions were too wildly high as Grace cavorted on a large screen behind him and Spenser McCann casually rocked one knee over the other.

McCann studied the detective closely. He saw the sweat bead and the trace down the man's temple. He saw the taut anger which proved Danny to be inconsolable and completely unreasonable which forced him quickly down a different path.

"So be it," McCann murmured thoughtfully. "You certainly are so very, very stubborn." The tilt of his head was too subtle for Danny to catch, but Leon was already on the move as McCann finished speaking. He was between them before Danny had a chance to budge another inch.

"I didn't want to have to restrain you or be forced to do things …. otherwise … uncomfortable for both of us," McCann sighed loudly. "Especially on what should be our first quiet evening together. I'd wrongly assumed you'd understand through these various demonstrations. But it seems that more of a lesson is in order. Leon, try not to mar his face too much."

Danny parried the first of Leon's aggressive advances, the two sharing a rapid exchange of blows until Leon swept Danny off his feet. Danny crashed to the ground, momentarily stunned as the breath rattled out of his lungs. There, the fight turned dirty with the two escalating at an alarming rate. Leon, furious that the smaller man was managing to scrappily hold his own, and Danny becoming more desperate to put his attacker out of commission so he could have free reign against Spenser McCann.

With a deep growl, Leon watched for an opening and earned it when Danny's eyes flickered towards McCann's comfortably seated position. The swift slicing blow of his elbow caught the detective right behind his neck, dropping him instantly. Danny groaned and forced himself to move, crawling on his hands and knees for a new goal just beyond the hallway.

"I don't think so," a menacing voice growled in his ear as a well-placed kick pushed all the air from his lungs with a loud rush. Stranded on his side, Danny moaned but couldn't find traction. Seconds later, the heavily panting giant of a man, had his wrists zip-tied tightly behind his back.

"Well done, gentlemen! That was entertaining," Spenser said as Leon dragged Danny over to the plush couch where he literally threw him lengthwise on his stomach. He'd been enthralled by the fight; excited by the depth of fortitude between the two men. "Such a fighter … better than I even had imagined … practically one for one with Leon here! We will work together, boy. One day ... mark my words, we will ... and you'll apologize for being so difficult now."

"If he lives that long," Leon muttered just loud enough for his boss to hear. Yet he only earned a sly grin for the remark.

"Don't take it so hard! You might have a new sparring partner, Leon." Spenser laughed as Leon glared at him, blood dribbling from his nose to mix with the bloody cut on his already grossly fat lip. "Sit him up and get me a glass of water. Then get yourself something … along with an ice pack for your mouth."

Gagging and breathing heavily as he spat a thin trickle of his own blood from his lips, Danny stiffened when Leon heaved him upright on the couch. He was still badly dazed as he was pushed roughly into the corner cushions, fading briefly to find McCann bending over him and a water glass pushed against his lips. Danny turned his head, refusing the offer only to find his nose pinched painfully shut.

"Drink it down, Danno," McCann hissed softly as he relentlessly pressed the glass against Danny's mouth. "You will drink or eat whatever I offer you. Willingly, or not."

He felt Spenser's anger grow as the man pinned his thighs with a knee. He moaned deep in his throat, needing to open his mouth for the simple act of breathing. Fearful of what would happen on his first panted inhale as glass connected with his front teeth.

"Stop," Danny burbled, coughing as that first breath brought in a flood of water into his mouth. "Get _off_ me."

He swallowed hard in a vain attempt to avoid a sick gag, the pressure on his nose unrelentingly strong as he was forced to both breathe and drink simultaneously. Water spilled down his face, soaking his shirt and mixing pink with his blood until the glass emptied, but Spenser wasn't done. The glass was refilled with water and Danny was forced again to drink its contents, his brain buzzing in silent warning about a tasteless danger.

"What ... was ... in that?" Danny gasped around another jagged bout of coughs. He fell back limply only after his nose was released and the glass removed from his lips. With a tired wheeze, Danny's eyes closed tightly when a clean cloth appeared in Spenser's hands. With a gentleness belying his ongoing anger, Danny's face and neck were dabbed clean of smeared blood and water. Tenderly dried as he coughed heavily and tried to catch his breath, so worn out that, at first, he made no attempt to move away.

"That's better ... I do hate a mess. Now, we try again," Spenser finally spoke, his voice still dangerously calm as he tossed the cloth aside. He grinned, one-sided, as Danny tried to shift out from under his weight. In response, he simply leaned more heavily down, perversely pleased when Danny groaned in discomfort. "Relax, Danno. We're going to get to know each other and we _are_ going to spend a pleasant evening together. Maybe we'll watch more of your daughter's cheerleading practice in fact. A bit of a diversionary preview before our main event? "

However, he stopped his ministrations mid-way only to motion for Leon to end the video feed of Grace's cheerleading practice because he caught a glimpse of something in the school's parking lot. New activity which greatly vexed him and McCann scowled angrily.

Yet, McCann still didn't move his knee from where it continued to pin Danny's thighs to the couch. He ruefully gazed at his latest acquisition and shook his head at the smeared blood, bruising and ruined t-shirt. The water he'd forced down Danny's throat had been dosed with GHB and he knew that Danny was just beginning to feel its affects as baffled glazed blue eyes met his own.

"I can tell you're feeling better already," Spenser knowingly shared. "So much better. Right, Danno?"

"What … what did … you do?" Danny wheezed, a dim shake of his head only serving to worsen the dizziness and sudden inability to focus.

"GHB ... more commonly known as liquid ecstasy. But in your _former_ line of work you would know that, wouldn't you, my dear boy?" Spenser drolly provided with a calm tilt of his head. With approval, he saw the professional lurking in the background of the befuddled blue irises slowly clicking his explanation into place. "I had warned you; I didn't want to go here. And yet, I should have expected it; after all, I am enamored in what makes you … so incredibly enticing. Your fight and defiance. Your damnable will despite the worst of odds; but for as much as I enjoy that, I just don't feel like arguing with you during our first night together."

"Can't … I'm … a cop," Danny weakly argued as a mellow sensation slowly eked through his body. He sighed, his eyes blinking more slowly as a calmer lethargy caused him to sink more deeply backwards and McCann's smile deepened.

"And that fact, my dear boy, only makes being with you … having you ….ever more the challenge," McCann whispered happily. "It only makes you much more interesting... enticing ... and mine to have. We will be an excellent team and though I'm not entirely patient, I am willing to work at ... _us_."

Danny moaned again as his vision began to swim and each of his muscles slackened to leave him completely at McCann's whim. He whimpered when he was pulled forward and pushed face down into the sofa, helpless as McCann ran his hands over his back in long smooth strokes. Completely unable to move even as the ties were sliced from his wrists.

"I like the idea of you being ... free," McCann explained lightly. "Even if it is rather ... under a false pretense. It's ... intoxicating. At least for me. Free and yet so very, very trapped."

Danny instantly thought to try to move as soon as the ties fell away, but nothing really obeyed and he only managed a feeble jerk and another muffled sound of refusal. In way of reply, McCann paused to run his fingers soothingly over his lower back, grinning in amusement as Danny tried to squirm away from him.

"Now, where are you trying to go? You'll like this. I promise," McCann whispered gently as he righted the prone man so that he had enough room to settle himself comfortably along the pillows and long seat. " _Shhh_ , Danno. Just go with the feeling."

Danny heard the patient, condescending sigh as McCann physically hauled him up to rest against his chest. The older man then wrapped his arms around his upper body and Danny unconsciously relaxed into the embrace.

"There you are ... here we go, Danno. We'll check in on Grace later," McCann murmured quietly, his hand gently palmed Danny's forehead up so he could see the change on the wide screen TV which was now back to the sports event. He cocked his head, amused by the glassy-eyed expression which fought to focus first on his face and then on the bright screen.

"Grace?" Danny whispered. He frowned, his eyes fluttering anew as he fought his body's desire to sleep.

McCann watched Danny's face change with glee, the man fighting not only an inner turmoil, but also the drug. Not quite knowing where to settle in his emotional realm while the sounds of a loud swell of a cheering crowd filled the room.

"Come here," McCann murmured, his mood swings frightening as he kicked his shoes off and then shifted to lay further back into the corner of the large leather couch. "It's already started ... let's dispose of this quarrel and start ... fresh."

He stroked Danny's hair from his sweaty brow, moving again to get more comfortable while bringing the blonde man along with him. "You've gotten yourself rather worked up, Danny. You've already ruined your new shirt ... you need to calm yourself. Relax. Here. With me."

"Fuck. No, let ... me go ... you bastard," Danny argued with as much vehemence as he could muster, yet he was positioned against the older man's chest regardless. His battle was already a sheer loss as the drug absorbed into his system

Arms entangled and his thighs buffered on either side by McCann's. Danny's legs twitched as he tried to find traction with his feet, his heels failing at gaining purchase across the soft, slick buttery leather of the long couch. Danny fought his body to move, his hands only sloppily able to hook weakly onto to McCann's wrists where they eventually lost their slim grip.

Behind them, Leon stood at attention, still angry as he held an ice pack to his face. But his comeuppance was good enough even if dealt by another's hand. He leered and smirked in apparent glee as the detective was levered more comfortably against his powerful boss's upper body, blonde head tucked under McCann's chin as idle fingers rucked up the sweat-stained t-shirt to graze across a still heaving chest.

"Relax, enjoy the moment," McCann soothed. He could feel Danny's heart wildly pounding with each soothing stroke, but that would calm soon, too. The frenetic beat would ease significantly as the drug spread its lassitude through the man's body.

"Football, Danno. Soccer to you lot," McCann whispered happily as the cool fingers of his left hand toyed across heated, clammy skin and he sensed tense muscles falling lax one by one. He palmed the remote, increasing the volume even more to a near din before he let it slip to the floor near his discarded shoes. He then allowed his right hand to join the first on a wayward inquisitive journey, Danny's t-shirt pushed even higher as Spenser did as he pleased.

"Was I right? Do you like the way this feels, Danno?" He grinned to himself and then towards Leon, as the man stood sentry while the detective murmured in a quiet distress.

" _Shhh_. This is better. So much better now," Spenser murmured insistently. The sounds faded moments later, Danny's eyes now closed while he ran his fingers over the ridged plane of Danny's chest and across his stomach, then lower to the sensitive skin of his belly. " _Shhh_ , this feels good ... so good ... relax and just let it be, Danno. Just let it be."

McCann smirked when Danny's hands moved just one more time as if to object, finally falling silent as his breath evened out entirely. The man was strong, always fighting down to the very last second and McCann found himself placing a spontaneous kiss on the top of the mussed head of blonde hair. Damp from sweat and smelling subtly of a sweet shampoo, he inhaled deeply. _Finally_.

 _His Danno_ was indeed strong, but he was no match for such a powerful drug. No match for him. Such inner will proved he'd need much convincing, but Spenser felt he could be generous with the time needed to coax him along. He only needed to be patient with managing his own desires.

Squirreling his own shoulders down more comfortably into the cushions, McCann sighed happily as he wrapped his arms around the younger man and hooked his right leg over Danny's with a possessive surety. Fingers gently toyed and played across a damp expanse of smooth skin in a haphazard pattern. His first evening couldn't have been much more perfect than at that very moment. All he needed now was for his team to win the football match.

"The game's just getting started. We've got five thousand Euro riding on Manchester to win. Settle in my boy ... _relax_. Let's get acquainted."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	8. Chapter 8

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"They're definitely hiding something," Kono groused, her temper flaring as she slammed the receiver to her phone into its cradle. Then her voice dropped to a whisper as she glanced warily towards the living room where Grace sat so morosely. A movie was playing and books lay strewn around, but the little girl was lost in thought. Entirely distracted and becoming frightened as she sensed the hectic worry from the two cousins.

Kono needed to calm down, at least for Grace's sake. She smiled reassuringly when their eyes met. Grace's lips quirked, but her brown eyes were dark and liquid from another growing need to cry. She knew that Grace felt lost without her Danno; but her desperation seemed to worsen without her Uncle Steve available to her. He wasn't there to personally offer those same reassurances which carried more clout from his mouth. It didn't even seem to be of consequence that her mother would be arriving by the next morning.

So while Kono knew that Grace trusted her and Chin, neither were the girl's Uncle Steve and there'd been no way to hide the severity of his injuries. It only mattered that he was hurt and not directly leading the charge to find her father.

"I know they're hiding something from us," Kono repeatedly much more softly when Grace went back to idly paging through a book.

"I don't doubt anything at this point," Chin replied. "This entire situation is out of hand but frankly, without their help, I don't know where to start. McCann is a master at covering his tracks."

Kono had been balancing Grace's needs and hassling INTERPOL for hours. But where the large organization had been initially proactive and wanting to take over during the earlier attack mandated by Spenser McCann, now they seemed almost weirdly ambivalent.

"Wait. Aren't they sending resources?" Chin asked incredulously when Kono shook her head angrily to the negative. Above board had suddenly become vague and nearly non-responsive. It was as if the global agency had simply decided that HPD and Five-0 didn't exist anymore as their relationship altered dramatically.

"They suddenly aren't sure it's in the budget to send anyone," Kono sarcastically explained. "Budget? Seriously? What the hell does that even mean? They couldn't wait to get here before! What the hell is going on? I've got calls to our contacts at the State Department and the FBI, but they seem just as in the dark."

"It means they're hiding something above and beyond their ongoing protection related to Doctor Mercier," Chin dryly agreed with his cousin's first assessment regarding INTERPOL's newest stance. "We're doing our due diligence here and will continue down that path. The Governor's aware of the pending situation and we're on high alert across the local organizations - military and local authorities alike."

"But we still have nothing on Danny's whereabouts," Kono whispered discreetly. Her face was clouded with worry, making her suddenly look much older and definitely more fatigued. "I can't imagine what Steve's going to say when he finds out how INTERPOL is reacting."

"Steve's beside himself over Danny's abduction. Their attitude is going to send him beyond the edge of reason," Chin softly commented. "He already thinks this is his fault … the break in … his lack of preparedness. How McCann managed to lure Danny to the house; not to mention how much they already knew about Grace. Steve's on the verge of checking himself out of the hospital against his doctors' warnings. INTERPOL's stance is going to do it now; I've got no doubts about it."

Kono closed her eyes for a long moment, her head hanging low as she listened. There was no point in saying that whatever had happened was out of Steve's control; her boss wouldn't ever believe or agree to that simplistic theory. She knew what he'd maintain, and frankly, they each felt partly to blame though the situation was entirely out of their mutual control. There would also be no point in arguing Steve's will to go AMA from the hospital. At the end of the day, he'd do what he needed to keep the case moving forward. He would do whatever had to be done to find Danny and bring him home. In fact, each one of them would do precisely no less the same.

"Barring this issue with Mercier, do you think McCann's still here at least?" Kono asked. Her lips barely moved when she cautiously voiced her biggest worry, her eyes focused solely on Grace's bowed head. "What are we going to do if he's left the Island? Do you think he's still here … with Danny? Somewhere?"

"Yeah, I do," Chin nodded. "I don't doubt that he's here to finish whatever he's been hired to do as it relates to the good doctor; and I think part of his game with Danny is flaunting his control right under our very noses. So yeah, Kono, that bastard is still here … and so is Danny."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"What's he doing?" Leon impatiently complained as he watched the detective struggle to his feet from the confines of the leather couch. "Hey, boss, are you seeing this? Where the hell is he trying to go?"

Spense was indeed watching his pet in amusement from the long bar, a snifter of brandy in hand. His team was losing and a well-deserved half-time was taking place, allowing a myriad of expensive commercials to ramble just as loudly across the wide screen television set. He had intended to only briefly leave Danny on the couch, yet moments later this new fight had begun. McCann's smile grew in pleasure as Danny's knees buckled and yet, he managed to stay fairly upright. His subsequent ungainly lurch was down the hallway and towards the double white doors which would lead beyond to an exterior entry and the penthouse's private elevator lift.

"I daresay he's trying to leave me," Spense pouted dramatically as he lifted the snifter to his nose and inhaled the warm aroma. "Already? So soon? When we've barely gotten to know each other?" He raised a quizzical eyebrow towards Leon to forestall any interference though; this was a most intriguing event and McCann wished it played out in full. "No. No, leave him. Let's see how far he gets," the leader insisted when Leon grumbled his annoyance in needing to retrieve the drugged younger man. "This is precisely what attracts me to him so very much, Leon. Watch."

Danny couldn't feel his legs and the world was terribly lop-sided, but he knew he was at least moving. He'd felt McCann leave his side and that was enough for him to try something - to try _anything_ to escape even if he didn't know more than what he could barely see beyond his nose. The whitish haze of the penthouse's entry doors blurred and swam into view before coalescing into a haze. They didn't quite solidify as he'd have liked, but they were definitely coming closer as he reeled along, using furniture and walls for balance like a career drunkard.

Without depth perception, he eventually hit the actual door hard, wincing as his forehead connected with the ornately paneled wood. Then he fumbled for the golden door handle, his breath catching hopefully in his throat when he found it and pushed down to find it moved under his hand. But it only moved so far and then he was struggling with the wedge-shaped golden bolt. It took some doing with damp fingers which shook and nearly refused to work, but he managed to actually open the door wide enough. He never wondered why no one had stopped him. He almost fell in his haste, banging his shoulder hard into the doorframe and blinking madly to clear his vision which never quite got beyond that of an underwater-like, unfocused blur.

Behind him, Leon looked back towards his boss, not nearly as amused as McCann as he, too, ambled in their wake.

"He's not going anywhere, Leon," McCann remarked dryly as he waggled the key to the elevator. "But we evidently will have to do something about the inner door now that's he's proved his mettle." The penthouse's private elevator operated by a special key and nothing more; a lovely design which McCann greatly appreciated even more as his Danno tried to escape him.

The span from the penthouse's doorway to the elevator lift seemed a nearly insurmountable ten or twelve feet and Danny took a long minute to vainly gauge where to go. Just a few more feet and he'd be in the elevator, or even able to get to the emergency stairwell. But that stairwell seemed as if it were miles away when his wobbly neck eventually found the distant silver aluminum of the long industrial hardware and the sparkle of the Exit sign overhead which was nothing more than a smudged reddish glow.

Gasping in breathless exertion, Danny fell into the opposite wall. However, he couldn't find what he expected as his fingers sloppily grazed across the cool painted surface. He'd completely forgotten that there was no button or a series of buttons to press; only a small silver keyhole. He wanted to sob when his fingers clawed uselessly at the rectangle, sensing then the presence of the two people who had followed his useless course.

McCann bypassed Leon, handing the bodyguard his glass of brandy, to gently pull Danny into his arms. He grinned happily as he felt the exhausted tremble through his hands.

"I do so love this about you," McCann said. "A truly gallant effort. Well done." He tilted Danny's chin upwards and chuckled at the defiant blue gaze, so muddled and unable to focus truly on his face.

"I ... I _need_ ... need to go. Please," Danny stammered over his tongue, his eyes wet by a growing frustration and realization of his pending loss. "I need to get ... out of here." He tried to pull away, failing as the larger man dug his fingers into skin and hair.

"You're not going anywhere," McCann breathed softly over Danny's lips just before he fully claimed his mouth for the first time. He chuckled softly when the younger man flailed and tried to pull away, but he viciously held Danny's head in place with a fistful of hair as he continued to kiss him deeply. McCann closed his eyes and smiled through Danny's panicked moan which easily communicated distaste, revulsion and an ongoing will to fight. All of which was entirely intoxicating.

"Nowhere," he repeated once he'd released the kiss but not the hair he'd painfully entangled through his fingers. "You're not going anywhere, Danno, except back inside where you belong. Half-time is just about over and you managed to make it so very ... exciting for me. Much better than how this game is going and the wager I'm sure to lose. So, I must remember to thank you for that."

"No," Danny refused, but his knees buckled when Leon grabbed his opposite side. His breath was ragged in his throat as the two men turned him back towards where he'd come. He tried to fight their hold with pitiful attempts.

"No, leave ... me the hell ... alone." He was turned regardless and then virtually dragged back to the place where he'd been trapped, his bare feet dragging uselessly behind and unable to gain purchase on the slick entryway surface or even then, the plush carpet.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	9. Chapter 9

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny lay pillowed against something warm. He didn't like it though. There was nothing soothing about it. A heavy tonal vibration thrummed through his left ear and he had to fight to hear the words. He didn't much like that either; neither the feeling nor the sound of the man's voice, let alone the staccato syllable or two which broke through the fugue in his head. Eyes screwed shut, he worked hard to move his hand, succeeding in finally wending it between his ear and the older man's bare chest. As a buffer, it significantly lacked strength, but it would have to do as it elevated his head just enough off the rise and fall of Spenser's body.

"When we came the first time, my team was only tasked with providing a diversion. One of epic proportions, but still, merely a diversion," Spenser said in a completely conversational tone. "In the end, we tested one of the bio-chemical formulations which Doctor Mercier had prepared in a minuscule dose; but it failed."

Danny kept his eyes shut as McCann spoke. It wasn't difficult since he'd been in the thrall of a drugged daze for hours now. But he was forced to listen to the man's voice, while being simultaneously spooned into an abnormal embrace.

"L'me … up," Danny chuffed in objection, his own words more a moan than anything intelligible. He tried to push away, yet got nowhere as his muscles scarcely managed a twitch. Inside, he cringed as McCann trailed his fingers up and down his arm. From his wrist to his elbow, and sometimes straying higher to the inner skin of his bicep which made him involuntarily shiver. Other times, a hand would drop to his chest or lower, where careless caresses would replace any ability to hear anything beyond the roaring in his own ears.

"Now, if you'd been with me that time, I think certain things would have been much different," McCann fantasized to himself. "We can correct that now though; were you aware that the primary team failed, Danny? The chemical failed, Mercier was killed and we were brought in to triage what was left. And the better news? In being elevated, that brought me back to you."

Danny groaned weakly in his chest as McCann continued on his self-impressed litany while his hands continued to travel the breadth of his body. Uncaring of anything except his current state, Danny exhausted himself of trying to move. Stuck in place and though he truly didn't care, he resigned himself to finally listen to more of McCann's business.

"I plan to recover her myself. Afterwards, we have two potential clients to manage …. who gets her? Well, we have less than a fortnight for recovery and to set that final plan into action. My benefactor will be advising which way to go. But I gather, as we've done in the past, the exchange will take place at sea. International waters."

Danny opened his mouth as if to speak and then forgot what he'd wanted to say, managing instead to lick his lips with the bit of moisture he had left. The drugs had seemingly sapped the saliva from his tongue, leaving him thirsty and yet unable to ask for or even manage a glass of water. And that simple act of drinking the most benign of liquids, he'd learned to fear already.

"I'd love for you to be at my side for the final steps of this mission," McCann said into the darkness of the room. "But I think we both know that's an impossibility because convincing you that joining me is your fate will take much more time. That may have been the only thing Dylan was right about; that and the dirty bomb …. which failed."

Danny should have been listening. He should have been outraged by what McCann was saying. There was nothing though except a void in his thoughts only filled by sporadic flickers of defiance demanding that he get away and McCann said as much.

"You're entirely off your game, aren't you, my boy?" The elder man chuckled softly. "Not even knowing that we tried to plant a dirty bomb within your beloved Palace - as a test - got your attention?"

His mood was changing though as he felt the dim attempts beneath his hands. A clenched fist, a quivering muscle, or the weak spasmodic refusal as a finger twitched. He didn't like being rejected in business or in his bed, no matter the reason.

"Maybe this will though. How about another time check? After all, it's getting late for a youngster. It's well after nine o'clock," McCann whispered in Danny's ear. He was no longer fully content, proven now as his tone held a lingering evilness while he continued toying with the man.

In direct antithesis to his earlier mood, Spenser McCann was moving into a foul temper as he jockeyed Danny closer under the thin sheets. He didn't approve of television sets in bedrooms - _bedrooms_ were meant for other endeavors - so he couldn't show the distraught father any footage. He also doubted his ability to actually garner more live feed intelligence since HPD had arrived so propitiously at Grace's cheerleading practice. Whether by some miracle McGarrett had managed to say something of value or by other intuitive means, McCann knew that Five-0 and HPD at minimum sensed a threat to the detective's family. He didn't like it. But he was far from concerned because he would know more of the situation within the hour - including that of the Five-0 Commander's health status at the hospital.

So, none of that entirely mattered since his first few lessons had gone so exceedingly well; reminders in the form of verbal threats would suffice. With the use of astutely administered drugs, Danny was incredibly impressionable. The detective would become whatever McCann wished as he fondly carded his fingers through the mussed blonde hair. And as for Grace, herself? He certainly knew as much about young Williams' daily schedule as her own parents. Whatever he might lack, he simply concocted to suit his needs.

"She missed your nightly call, Danno, so her mommy's letting her stay up late. A rare treat, indeed. They're watching one of her favorite movies. Right now. Right this very minute … while you're here … with me."

They would be in bed together that night, lights low but with the blinds pulled wide to showcase the beauty of downtown Waikiki after dark. McCann was tired and simply ached for companionship. The sports game had ended long ago, McCann newly perturbed at the loss of both his team and his sizeable personal wager.

So after the game, arms looped limply over their shoulders, McCann and Leon had moved Danny from the main living room to the master bedroom. He'd been divested of his ruined shirt before being tucked back into McCann's arms. Now propped on a pile of pillows, the mercenary was curling his fingers up and around Danny's bare arm as he spoke. His leisurely stroking far more intimate than warranted, but by that point, it didn't upset Danny as much as the continued sound of the man's sonorous voice in his left ear.

Certainly not more than what he was saying either as he strove harder to focus, falling for McCann's bait as the subject changed.

"How long do you think they'll continue to lie to her? Your lovely little baby girl?" The older man hummed inquisitively as his hand strayed upwards to Danny's hair where he twirled a few strands around an index finger. "A few days? A few weeks?"

"Grace," Danny brokenly whispered, he moved his head weakly unable to escape Spenser's errant fingers and yet, also quite unable to say more. But he heard every threatening word and felt every touch.

"Maybe forever, Danno. But we don't have to talk about that now," Spense teased him softly before his voice became falsely happy and more jovial. He fondly rubbed his arm before pulling him into a tighter hug. "Tomorrow, I hear her class is visiting a museum. She'll be close to here … just a few blocks away. Convenient. Don't you think ... ripe for the picking? At Grace's age … perfect ... I have a few people in mind ... people who like young girls ..."

"No. _No_ ," Danny murmured just loud enough to break off McCann's terrifying conversation. He briefly clenched his fists but his muscles held no power. The drugs forced on him had finally taken a toll. He couldn't sustain his anger or find the control he needed to focus in order to fight back and his fingers splayed uselessly back open of their own accord.

"Not … my daughter. Please, Spense." Danny's words were haltingly slow as he had to work hard not only to think of what he wanted to express, but then also to form each one on his tongue. "Promise. Leave her ... alone."

"That's nice, love," Spense whispered dangerously as he landed a heated kiss on Danny's lips. He smiled winningly as he peered into the pale face, amused by the partially opened blue eyes which couldn't quite focus on his own. Eyes with darkly blown pupils so black that they almost swallowed their blue; wracked with confusion, nonetheless holding a spark of fear.

At that very moment, he hated that he'd promised himself to wait until after the mission to share more than this with the Five-0 detective. More than an extended period of foreplay which would test not only his own resolve, but tease his Dylan to a vile level.

"We need to wait," Spenser murmured regretfully to himself. "No, I need to wait. The mood is all wrong now anyway. Entirely wrong and it would be unfair to both of us."

Exercising his desires to improve his temper was almost too powerful an urge to fight as he hummed yet another kiss against Danny's unresponsive lips. But he needed to fight this exhilarating tug of power as Danny's brow furrowed unhappily under his attentions. He needed to manage his emotions. Danno would be his special celebratory prize. His reward ... his golden ring, so to speak. The wait would be well worth the final conquest and also completely necessary in order to keep his Dylan somewhat at bay despite the ongoing teasing jealousy.

Bad enough, McCann was going to have a great deal of trouble explaining Danny's presence to Dylan when he arrived on site, since he'd acted much too early. Having Danny now hadn't been the agreed-to plan. A plan which Dylan already detested most vehemently. A mere mention of the detective's name had his beloved second in a green-eyed turmoil.

So for now, McCann would content himself with merely petting, toying and coddling his newest prize. Maybe he would even test the drugged detective only to thwart his escape attempts again; the earlier rush he'd received in watching how far his Danno could get had been incredibly enticing. Regardless, he would force himself to take his time, but encourage the detective to take part in their future together.

"You're going to be so worth the wait," McCann hummed longingly once more into Danny's mouth as he vainly tried to force himself to a calmer place. "You're so damnably ... intriguing. Mark my words, Danno, you will be by my side one day."

"Spense. Please. _Sir_." The murmur was so quiet and so very hesitant, that at first, Spenser almost missed it.

"Did you say something, love? Did you say what I think you did?" He smiled sarcastically, his fingers threading themselves peacefully through the mussed blonde hair. " _Please_. _Sir_ , even. _Spense_. All of it ... very, very nice. You learn quickly ... but tell me, how genuine are those words? Nevertheless, you don't get to ask for anything … not now. Not ever." McCann narrowed his eyes as another spark of anger soured his smile. Even drugged there was a tone of defiance; a game of words which his Danno thought to try and play.

His new conquest was barely conscious, yet aware enough based on the tightness of his mouth and the pearls of moisture beading his lashes. He might not recall their words later, but at that very moment, Danno certainly understood enough of the threat to be upset. Quite enough to still be fighting him through weak manipulation. To have the absolute gall to be playing games with him. At first endearing, this tearful look now angered Spenser, for its apparent deceit. In an unexpected show of fury, he yanked hard to pull Danny's head roughly back, causing him to wince and briefly flail in reaction. Danny's movements were sluggish though and he was just as pliable as before when McCann tugged him closer still.

"You're a smart one, but your only job is to please me," Spenser hissed angrily. "You'll do that and only that. If you're good though, over time I might reconsider being ... what did you dare say to me once? Was it ... empathetic?"

Danny was barely breathing as McCann's fingers groped harshly through his hair, the ache contributing to his overall loss of control. "Spense?" He whispered despite the painful tug on his scalp, the desperate plea to keep Grace safe apparent in the thinness of his voice. "Please."

He begged through the few words he managed to vocalize, knowing that the mercenary wouldn't care and that the older man knew what he'd tried to negotiate by intentionally finding what he'd thought would be just the right few words in his muddy brain. He was now experiencing the consequences of that ill-timing, yet he simply couldn't bear the ongoing threat against his daughter for the validity of the man's reputation.

"I could give you anything you'd ever want in life. Willingly. All you need to do is cooperate and pledge yourself to me, Danno," McCann purred softly as his fingers slowly released their painful grip to smooth down the damp blonde strands of hair. His attitude changed at a startling rate as he finger-combed Danny's hair back into place with the utmost care.

"Can you do that? Be with me ... in all ways? And then, just maybe I forget about her or going after her dear Uncle Steve whilst he's so innocently laid up in hospital."

Danny allowed his eyes to close, seeking anything which might give him some hope in protecting Grace and Steve as McCann's breath warmed his cheek. He didn't doubt that the man could reach either of them at a whim. Danny could feel the tympanic thud of his own heart in his neck and hear the calmer beat of McCann's in his ear. His mouth opened and then tiredly closed as he fought his lethargy to say something - anything - that might make sense, however he was stopped as McCann chuckled softly.

"What really happens next is entirely in your hands, petal."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	10. Chapter 10

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Leon waited for Spenser McCann to leave for the rendezvous before deciding to leave the confines of the penthouse suite. He had no fear that the Five-0 detective might be going anywhere. The man was currently curled up in the spacious master bedroom, dead to the world for the volume of drugs which had been pumped into his system. And based on his boss's ongoing plans, if and when he roused, not much of the detective's perspective within a similar drugged haze would be changing.

Just at dawn, Leon had watched as Spenser manhandled the detective onto his stomach. Spenser had then straddled the young man's legs with a gentle persistence, comfortably ranging himself to trap the man's lower body under his own and Leon had thought he'd heard a murmur of malcontent. Yet barely a finger had twitched at the time.

He'd watched with interest as McCann had happily examined every contour of the man's back. A satisfied smile had twisted his lips as he reveled in his conquest, rubbing soothing circles between Danny's shoulder blades, progressing on down to the sensitive area of his lower back before deciding where to hide the thin transdermal skin patch. The drug it constantly dispensed into Danny's blood stream would just allow him to barely function. It would keep him in line, McCann explained coyly as he smoothed it into place just above the small of the man's back.

 _"He'll eventually be on his feet within a few hours, yet unable to truly focus or think clearly,"_ Spenser had added, reluctantly easing off and away from the unconscious detective while checking the time to remain on his tight schedule. _"You'll probably have to remind him of things ... often. He'll have the attention span of a gnat. But as you've seen, I don't doubt his resilience to at least try to leave me again."_

 _"Fucking fantastic,"_ Leon had grumbled again. The last thing he needed was a mobile and drugged-out escape artist to babysit for his enamored leader. _"If he tries anything while you're out, boss, I swear I'm going to tie him to the fucking bed!"_

 _"Don't worry so!"_ Spense had chuckled at Leon's comment, his eyebrows raised comically upwards at the concept. _"He won't wake for a while and when he does, he won't even know the patch is there. Then, only God will know what he does or doesn't remember. He'll be too lethargic to get too far, either. So consider it another interesting experiment."_

With an aggrieved sigh, he'd left Danny on his stomach while longingly running his hand over the broad back. Then, he'd tossed a bed sheet over the man's shoulders before striding purposefully from the bedroom.

_"These baby steps aren't quite what I'd hoped for and I assume he'll refuse my offer to defect for some time to come. Nonetheless, having him more open to suggestion … more agreeable … will be easier for the both of us right now. Though I fear, I'll also have to lose some of his acerbic wit in the doing and I find his conversation so … very … exhilarating. Leave him here … let him sleep, but order room service and make him eat when he wakes. He's far too thin for my liking."_

Leon had subsequently been placed on a glorified babysitting duty.

He'd railed angrily and shown a worthy amount of disgust for the unanticipated job, which was no job at all for a certified assassin. He'd argued loudly and had even brought Walker's name into the mix; rightfully complaining that Spenser's jealous second would be difficult for him to contend with once he found the Five-o detective within their midst so very prematurely. Of course in the end, Spenser hadn't budged in his stance, seemingly amused by Leon's volume of loathing for his assignment.

 _"Just keep Dylan away from him,"_ Spenser had purred. _"He's not to lay a finger on Danno … in fact, I don't want him in this room. At all. And I'm trusting you to see to that, Leon."_

Spenser had a valid point there; Dylan was indeed going to hit the proverbial roof upon his arrival. So, Leon merely nodded in anger. In reality though, he was pleased to be alone because it made his next steps much less complex.

Standing now in the doorway to the bedroom, he lingered briefly to ensure his charge remained precisely where he lay. He scowled darkly as he dabbed at his sore lip. Even his nose still ached from one of the detective's solid punches. He'd tried to escape despite being drugged and Leon simply knew that the officer was going to prove more trouble than Spenser McCann had ever assumed; Leon could feel that fact in more ways than one. Whispers of a bothersome hunch which went well beyond any pending confrontation with Dylan Walker.

But he had other things to care for and he needed to get moving. Being deemed babysitter at least afforded him with some free time to lurk under the radar. He currently had an ample amount at his fingertips before McCann returned with the rest of their team; yet, there was a looming threat from the aggressive Second in Command. Leon had no way of gauging Dylan Walker's arrival during which he'd be truly tasked in keeping the detective relatively safe.

Moving quickly, Leon left the penthouse suite. He traveled down the length of the side stairwell to the basement level of the posh hotel where he managed his own other, personal business.

He had to check in.

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love the reviews and interesting opinions on Leon! Everyone is right about one thing: he's not what he first seemed to be.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny opened his eyes, slowly and with a lazy fluttering of his lashes as he tried to focus on unfamiliar surroundings. He lay there quietly for a time just staring at the unfamiliar view of a large floor to ceiling window partially hidden by elaborate vertical blinds. The blinds were a soft ivory color and were swaying to an odd circulation of cold air which he blearily realized only meant the air conditioning had been cranked up in the room. Every so often, they'd move just enough where he could see a dim sparkle of sky.

He didn't know where he was. He didn't remember and yet, wasn't even remotely startled by those facts.

A subtle movement brought a deep ache to the back of his neck and Danny closed his eyes, wincing through the repercussions of having been through a fist fight. He forced himself to think, his confusion growing exponentially when he came up nearly blank. Lying there tiredly, Danny racked his brain harder, slowly settling on at least a name: _Leon_.

As he lay there, the only thing which he could be sure about was having been drugged. His brain was too murky and much too difficult to wade through. He felt both heavy and mysteriously disembodied, utterly uncertain of vague memories and muted whispers which ghosted through his head. He was decidedly uneasy, too.

Something was wrong. A danger which included Grace. Steve.

He'd had a dream before waking. A terrible dream about Steve. A dream where his friend lay slumped in a puddle of red, looking entirely ... dead. Danny heaved in a deep shuddering sigh as he fought to get the dream back, but the fractured images of blood were nearly gone now that he'd woken. Parts of it felt real, yet were so fleeting, he couldn't be certain. Left with something else to be entirely uncertain of, Danny felt a brief flare of trepidation which fled him just as quickly. As if his feelings were a flame doused by water, he was numb a moment later.

Unable to get his bearings, Danny frowned, his eyes opening once more to stare at the gentle sway of the blinds. He shivered first at the black hole in his memory and then by a very real feeling of being truly cold, confused to find he was shirtless as he fumbled for the covers to shield himself from the chill of the cold room. Baffled by the fact he was wearing just a pair of dove-gray sleep pants and nothing else while lying in a bed he didn't recognize.

"Good, you're finally awake," a male voice intoned from the foot of the large bed. "I doubt you remember much, so I'll fill you in. You're to eat now. You're hungry."

"What happened?" Danny mumbled while tiredly pulling himself into a seated position. He stared almost dumbly at the big man - _Leon_ \- knowing he should be more alarmed by where he was and yet unable to put a finger on any of his fleeting thoughts or feelings.

The big man's face was bruised and his lip was swollen. Danny carefully rubbed the back of his own aching neck in response. Vague images of Leon's face, Spenser's hands on his skin where they caressed his arms or chest, flit teasingly through his mind and Danny scowled darkly as his breath caught in his throat.

"Fuck," he whispered as he glanced down to his bare chest and then to the balled up t-shirt left sloppily on the floor nearest the blinds. "What the fuck happened?"

"Put this on." A clean version of that same shirt was rudely tossed his way at nearly the same time and – startled - Danny blinked as his fingers automatically closed around the material. He mumbled yet another curse as he stared at the light blue cotton before severely pinching the space between his eyes.

"I need ...," he murmured under his breath to no one in particular. "I need ... to leave. Get out." His mind wandered of its own accord though, and he heaved a sigh which seemed to bring little oxygen into his body, let alone his brain. It was a senseless plea as he continued to nervously pull the fabric through his fingers. His thoughts scattered almost instantly - straying briefly to Steve - and Danny shook his head in confusion.

 _Blood_. Steve's house and _Steve_ ... sprawled almost on his back. Was he dead or alive? ... Had it really happened at all? With his brain refusing to cooperate, Danny couldn't be sure of anything at all. Even sitting in the bed at that moment was surreal. Therefore, that made these faint images which were creeping into his mind some sort of recurring nightmare - along with where he'd woken to find himself - and Danny giggled sharply.

"It's all a nightmare," he chuffed out, another giggle startling the big man standing over him. "It has to be, right? All of this is just some fucking ridiculous ... nightmare. You? That maniac? All a nightmare."

"Stop whining. Shut up and get dressed," Leon hissed, seemingly angered by his oddly fluctuating emotions as hazy eyes glistened back up to him. Disgusted by the drugged affect of his charge as he simply sat idly in the bed, Leon shook his head at his own ludicrous situation. "This is just fucking great. I'm no god-damned babysitter! Get _dressed_. You need to eat something and I'm not going to say it again."

Though the next giggle choked in his throat, Danny didn't move as Leon glared down long enough for him to look away.

"Nightmare." Danny dug his fingernails into his wrist, hard enough to draw half-moons in dented skin. It clearly hurt as he gazed at the marks and a cold breeze circulated over his bare shoulders. There was zero doubt that this was real. The big man and the fact that Danny was half-dressed in some king-sized bed were both quite real. Yet Danny had no idea what Spenser wanted with him - or why indeed he was even back on the Island. He wasn't sure which bothered him more: the fact that he had apparently been kidnapped and knew nothing of the fate of his team; or the real reason for McCann's return to Oahu.

"I have to get out of here. This can't be happening … it can't be real," Danny whispered, suddenly sickened by the sheer extremes he'd been brought down to. His head throbbed warningly and Danny glanced worriedly up into Leon's annoyed black eyes.

"What happened?" Danny whispered again, this time nearly pleading with his unfriendly guard. "What's going on out there ... can you tell me anything?"

Where he woke to find himself was wrong … so very, very wrong. Distracted by a stray thought of his daughter, Danny's eyes dimmed. He shook his head to dispel a dizzying feeling of vertigo as Leon ignored him to stalk over to the bed, whipping the blankets away from his body before Danny realized his intent.

"You do remember how to get dressed, right? Put the damned shirt on; get up; and eat," Leon demanded as he roughly pulled Danny from the bed by his arm. He grabbed the clean t-shirt only to slap it into Danny's bare chest to signal his ongoing requirement. "Shirt. Food. You haven't eaten in hours."

Struggling into the t-shirt, Danny was beginning to feel physically sick though. His stomach churned uncomfortably; not only regarding where he was, but also at the idea of eating.

 _Drugs_. His years of experience threatened his beleaguered mind with their warning. He'd been drugged to be so compliant. He knew that was true as he allowed the big man to herd him into the penthouse's dining room. He swayed and wobbled badly enough for Leon to have to hold him up on the way.

Since they fluctuated, his emotions were nearly as untouchable as the nailing down of a single valid thought in his head. He was off balance in so many ways; he simply did as he was told when Leon shepherded him from bedroom to dining room because he had no real choice in the matter.

Danny stumbled to an awkward halt next to the chair which Leon shoved him towards. He'd almost forgotten why he'd wound up in the dining room. He frowned at the table and then the high-backed chair. He didn't want to sit and he certainly didn't want to eat. In silence, he stood there, refusing to take a seat at the table when he saw the finely ornate setting for one. Ornate except for the plastic-ware next to the fine china and crystal water glass.

He wasn't to be trusted. That was clear. Regardless, this was an orchestrated plan designed by Spenser McCann and he didn't want to participate. If this were the only thing he could fight against, then so be it. Danny would fight, as childish as it might appear to be.

So he simply stood there, a hand to his face and another tiredly scrubbing his hair as he tried to make sense of what he should do. Of what he _could_ do depending upon what happened next.

"Do you remember my name?" His appointed babysitter suddenly asked. Based on the continually perturbed expression, Danny understood the question to be a test and he paused to force the name back into his brain.

"Leon?" he said. "Maybe." Managing a relieved shrug when he received a curt affirmative nod in reply. Even he could congratulate himself on at least remembering one thing amongst the confusing fractured thoughts swimming inside his head. Unable to settle on single thing, he felt decidedly off balance and physically ill as the room rippled oddly.

"Good. At least there's that. Now you listen. You can trust me on one thing," Leon said knowingly as he physically pushed Danny into the chair and resentfully shoved a dome covered plate in front of him. "He's done this before. Many times. If you don't eat on your own, you'll wind up regretting it. McCann has his ways, none of which will be very pleasant for you. Now eat."

Danny breathed in deeply through his nose to dispel a surge of nausea. He considered arguing and fighting Leon, but he was shaky and distinctly out of sorts. He even had trouble finding the energy to spark an anger which would have been entirely justified.

"What did you give me?" Danny asked; his brow heavily creased. He knew he'd been given something. Something which had made him sleep and now kept him almost numb.

His hands shook as he removed the plates' cover, dumbly identifying the meal as pasta primavera and feeling instantly nauseated by the smell wafting under his nose. For some reason, he'd anticipated a breakfast meal. But he couldn't think clearly and certainly didn't feel like eating no matter what the offering. Then, there were the questions about Grace … and - God help him - Steve.

"I can't," Danny said, the silver dome falling from his fingers with a ringing clang down over the food. He closed his eyes and tried to settle. He tried to think, but his brain seemed as numb as the rest of his body. "What did McCann do? What did he give me?'

"I wouldn't worry about it," Leon bluntly replied, utterly impatient with the continued questioning. "I'd worry about eating. Do as you're told and we'll all get along just fine." He scowled though as he checked the time. He knew Dylan Walker and his skin had started to tingle in warning. The volatile second was due to arrive and if he came before McCann returned, Leon would have his hands full.

"Eat," he growled. "After, you're going back in the bedroom and you'll stay there until the boss gets back. You're allowed to shower but the door stays open … there's no locks on any of the inside doors anyway. Then, no TV. No radio. You can have a book or a magazine … or hell, go back to sleep for all I care. But you're going to stay in the bedroom."

Danny frowned again, his head wanting to wobble awkwardly on his neck. He had a fleeting memory of almost taking down the big man looming over him. _Now_ , he thought. _Now_ would be the perfect time when he should take advantage and attempt the door for the emergency stairwell, but he must have accidentally communicated the sentiment based on the loud amused snort.

"Are you fucking serious?" Leon had to laugh out loud as the detective's fingers fisted and his lips tightened thinly. "As much as I'd love to finish our earlier match, you can barely walk a straight line!"

A smile transformed his face, tugging painfully at the bruised lip, almost making him appear to be likeable for a short instance. "Listen, and listen up good. Dylan's going to be here soon. Very soon. If that's not enough reason to stay out of the way … then I don't know what is."

Dylan Walker. The name set something off inside. A warning bell, though he wasn't afraid. Not really, yet a strange worrisome feeling settled in his belly and Danny looked up from the plate of food. Leon wasn't smiling anymore. He was deadly serious. There was a very strong hint that mock valet turned disgruntled babysitter would soon become unenthused bodyguard.

"Eat and hurry up about it," Leon said. He paused though thinking hard on saying something important; wondering if he should bother or if what he knew would bring some future recompense on his head.

"God dammit," he swore under his breath. He argued silently with himself about this kind gesture, the only evidence of that internal argument the anger which lifted his lips into an ugly sneer. He shouldn't care and he shouldn't even care enough to spend the time considering it. Yet, as he stared at the distressed detective, Leon found himself … _feeling_ as if he should share a bit of what he knew despite the risk to himself.

He glared hatefully at the seated man before slapping the table hard enough to topple one of the empty crystal water glasses. The detective couldn't hide the reactive flinch as his hands balled into fists in readiness for an anticipated one on one battle.

"If you so much as breathe wrong, I'll kill you," Leon vowed dangerously. He leaned forward across the table, his hand inches from the dinner plate. He waited until Danny looked full at him, the blue eyes somewhat muddied by the drugged contents of the thin skin patch which was invisibly adhered to the small of his back. However, there was still a defiant light just barely able to gleam underneath. Leon snorted softly under his breath, appreciative of McCann's abilities to recognize another soldier of sorts.

"Your partner's out of surgery and is resting comfortably. There have been no complications."

"What?" Danny's voice broke on the simple word. "What?" The bloody image of Steve in his house, slumped against the wall, now shook him to the core. Real. Not dream. And Danny's breathing altered at the stunning revelation about the oddity of his unsettled feelings.

"Steve? He was ... shot." He partially rose from where he sat only to crash back down when his legs wouldn't hold him up. The dim images of his friend slouched against a wall were real then. "God dammit. He _was_ shot ... that happened. God _damn_ McCann!"

He hissed the words under his breath, dizzy and forestalling a sob inside his chest just before he was suddenly stunned into silence by another truth. Grace. There was more. Something was wrong with her, too, and yet he couldn't understand what ... or why. He only knew he'd experienced something incredibly threatening of her safety.

Suddenly unable to express himself, Danny stared at Leon for a good long time. Entirely confused and knowing he should press for more information, he simply couldn't find the words at first. His brain was deadened and it took him time to pull a new consideration together and he nearly applauded himself as sweat beaded his forehead and a few other rational thoughts tumbled through his brain.

How did Leon know ... better yet, why would Leon choose to tell him? Did he know anything about his daughter, too? Doubtful of the man's intentions, Danny stared at him because maybe what he'd shared was more cruel joke than truth.

But Leon hadn't moved and his expression hadn't changed. No one was laughing and the mood was entirely serious. Danny kept staring at the man, his eyes straining to focus on a nearly unreadable expression to be sure he wasn't missing some subtle hint of a lie.

"Steve? He's ... how bad ... is he all right?" Danny carefully asked, wanting more but only needing to confirm one key thing: that his friend was alive.

Instead of directly answering though, Leon drew himself back up to his full height. He continued to glare at the detective until the man made the right decision and accepted the truth of what he'd shared.

"Eat." Leon still wondered why he'd bothered as he pointed to the large bowl of food. Despite the gratitude he'd just earned as made evident merely by the watery look in the man's eyes, he'd taken a terribly senseless chance and likely for nothing.

"No, I want more," Danny stammered suddenly. He forced his fingers into a fist, his head shaking in denial as he tried to adamantly thump the table because his he'd nearly forgotten. "What about ... Grace? My daughter? Something happened ... tell me."

"The kid's fine. Now, shut up, and eat the damned food," Leon growled in warning, tensing as he heard a distant sound in the hallway. That noise didn't bode well and he grimaced. He'd also opened a can of worms with the detective and was now regretting his spontaneous act of goodwill as the man's shining eyes begged to hear the truth and the hum grew louder. "That's all I've got ... now _eat_! Damnit!"

"But, you know ... you ...," Danny's voice faded as he blinked up at Leon in confusion because he'd finally heard the sound, too. His brain hadn't clicked nearly as quickly as Leon's though. He didn't understand anything about the man's change in temper or his new rise in agitation at the mechanical hum emanating from just outside the penthouse. All that had happened was a disruption in his thought pattern as he forgot what he wanted to say. The motorized sound of the elevator increased as it came closer and Leon glared angrily down at Danny, a warning finger jabbed in his direction when his mouth flapped open.

"Quiet! Not a word! He's here already. Sit there and keep your mouth _shut_ ," Leon cursed softly again when he heard the tell-tale sound of deep voices just outside the front door and the gold handle began to shift downwards to open. "Shit. Here we go."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	12. Chapter 12

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Assuming things might be different, Steve tried to get up as soon as he was moved from recovery to his private room on the fourth floor. He was already woozy from the few drugs used to keep his system stable and continually nodding off, waking to an odd noise or an unfamiliar presence as doctors or nurses came and went. Yet his initial thoughts always flew to Danny, McCann, and what - if anything - might be happening outside the walls of the hospital.

Those thoughts would spike adrenalin and urge him to act; something his brain and heart insisted on. As proven before though, his body had other ideas - all of which were disappointingly limited. This second attempt was also an epic fail which left him reeling and nauseous. His inability to muffle a pained groan clued in Chin's HPD duo who were stationed in the hallway. Ever diligent, they in turn hailed the floor nurse who found Steve hiding once more behind his arm, his legs uncovered with one knee hanging uncomfortably off the bed.

"I'm fine," he puffed out, completely missing her wry smile and look of semi-amusement.

"Of course you are. But I've heard about you already, so save it, Commander," she said warningly. She winced in sympathy as she gently helped Steve get his legs back where they belonged so she could unwind the tangled sheets.

"I doubt anything you've heard is valid," Steve murmured, his face pinched in pain and covered in a sheen of sweat. He groaned unhappily as he tried to find a better way to lay in order to stop the twinges he'd caused himself from abdomen to lower back. He panted and huffed disgustedly at himself, still hiding behind his arm and refusing to look at his kind benefactor. "I'm the epitome of a well behaved patient."

"Now that is something which I sincerely doubt!" She snorted loudly, then softly chuckled in understanding as he peered up into her face, his arm now draped over his forehead. She knew enough to understand the stress he and his team were under; everything else, she read through the worry and keen frustration in his eyes.

"Anyone who comes in the way you did, tries to escape recovery, and who now has an official escort stationed on my floor, automatically comes with a reputation, Commander," the nurse insisted as she nudged his arm further away to replace the nasal cannula he'd seen fit to remove.

"But you need rest now. I'm sure you'll be kept appraised of whatever it is you think you need to know. But you do need to rest in order to get back on your feet."

"How long am I stuck here?" Steve interrupted, earning yet another incredulous look from the astute nurse.

"I know that your doctor told you at least four days," she replied firmly. "You're in pain and your blood pressure just spiked. You're on antibiotics, too. That answer isn't going to change just because you're talking to me now. We're still estimating a minimum of four days."

"Unacceptable," Steve said, shaking his head at the medical staff's incredible ability to remain so steadfast. He ignored her completely when she took his wrist near the IV line as if to prove her point. "I simply can't be here … flat on my back … for four more days. You don't understand."

"I understand that you were shot. At incredibly close range," she reminded him gently. "Surgery removed the bullet and repaired torn tissue, but you do need rest. You do …. your body simply needs time. I think these foolish attempts of yours to get up keep proving that, don't you think? Besides, you are going to do yourself more harm and then what? Four days becomes how many? Seven? Do you really want to risk that?"

"No," Steve argued petulantly. He wheezed as a solid wave of pain stole his breath for a moment. Nonetheless, he stared daringly upwards to meet her eye for eye. "But … I'm … good."

"We'll discuss it later," she soothed as his eyes began to lose focus. Her patient was tired and his body would shortly be doing the job for her as he struggled to keep from a rapid-fire blink. She grinned kindly and shook her head to forestall another stubborn remark. "For now, go to sleep … humor me for a few hours. Let these kind officers do their job. Get some sleep. We can discuss it later."

Believing that she'd managed to snooker the man or at least, impress upon him his need to rest, the nurse left Steve fighting with himself. She never heard his grumbled comments as his voice faded and his breathing evened out towards that of a real healing sleep.

"Not up for … discussion," Steve weakly murmured as a mental countdown moved sluggishly in his mind. Too much time was passing and he couldn't bear the thought of Danny being alone ... taken ... held against his will by an obsessed, maniacal mercenary. He fought to wake and lost badly again as exhaustion, stress and drugs combined to thwart what he needed to do.

"No," his voice flowed and then ebbed to nothing as his eyes chose to close of their own accord. "Not now ...don't have time ... to _sleep_."

It wasn't fair to be so helpless; not when his partner and best friend needed him the most. Eyes closed, Steve inhaled sharply to shake unrelenting cobwebs from his brain, his exhale shuddered as if in complaint when he failed.

Danny wouldn't be _sleeping_. He'd be waiting for help that wasn't yet able to come.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Dylan Walker, Spenser McCann's highly trusted second in command and devoted significant other, couldn't stop thinking about Spenser as he tapped his fingers excitedly against his thigh while waiting for the private elevator to the penthouse. He was early because he'd accomplished his small but critical portion of the mission. In anticipation, he bounced nervously on his toes, his two men sharing friendly, knowing grins behind his back.

"Still on cloud nine, Sir?" Smitty smiled at the light in Walker's eyes. "Planning to take it higher?"

He knew what the young man had on his mind and couldn't help the light teasing. There wasn't a soul on their team who didn't know of their leaders' tight relationship. Rather than an impediment though, the two were seamless and unmatched in their commitment to each other and to their team's continued success. Rather than being a source of ridicule, their relationship simply _was_. Anyone daring to voice otherwise no longer walked the earth.

Smitty's grin deepened at the returned wry snort as Walker uselessly stared at the silver key he'd used to call the elevator down to the garage level. His younger commander, McCann's second in command and significant other, was nearly vibrating in his impatience. Though their time apart had catered to key portions of their larger mission, they'd been separated for an excruciatingly long ten days between Dubai and Oahu. Young Walker was now over eager and anxious in his reunion with McCann.

"Wouldn't you take it up a notch?" Walker retorted, allowing the innuendo and smiling in kind. He was indeed happy and now very impatient to rejoin Spenser.

"Yes, Sir," Smitty chuckled softly, his hands held high. "But not me! I never said that!" He was the only one of them all who could count himself _friend_ of Dylan Walker. Enough of one where he could manage the light, easy going banter around the sanctity of Walker's relationship with their powerful commander.

But all of that changed within a heartbeat as they entered the penthouse to find it nearly empty, except for Leon and a very much unwanted house guest.

"What the _fuck_!" Dylan shouted, accusatory eyes aimed directly at Leon as if the bodyguard had coordinated the act himself.

"Easy, Sir," Smitty advised softly, his hand falling in warning on the younger man's shoulder which was already trembling in a shocked rage. His eyes skittered worriedly towards Leon while he tried to calmly soothe his younger commanding officer. "You don't have the whole story and there must be a reason. The boss wouldn't have acted so early without justification; you know that."

"What the hell is he doing here?" Dylan hissed dangerously at Leon, shirking his shoulder angrily out from under Smitty's hand. "How long has he been here? What the fuck is going on, Leon?"

Seeing Leon first wasn't the issue. Finding the blonde Five-0 detective, seated at the dining room table was the major faux pas. Dylan's good mood evaporated in an instant as he eyed Spenser's handiwork … down to the dazed expression of the lightly drugged man.

"Like Smitty says, the boss decided he needed to act … a bit earlier," Leon evenly explained, his voice calm and yet exceedingly cautious. He glanced towards Smitty as he boldly took a position between the angry second and Danny, who had struggled to his feet. Leon's hands were raised offensively, as if ready to ward off an outright attack as he tried to calm the irate man with carefully chosen words.

"It was all about opportunity," Leon calmly explained, ruing his role now as protector. He'd been set up to be the hated messenger as Walker glared at him. Using his breadth of size, Leon inhaled deeply and took a wider stance. He stayed calm and kept his voice intentionally measured as if reciting McCann's words verbatim.

"There was an opening and an advantage which the boss saw no reason to pass up. And it's only been about a day. So, not too long and he didn't have time to get word to you and trust me, he sincerely wanted to."

Danny used the table to stay upright, somewhat relieved to be behind his appointed bodyguard no matter the reason. But an irate Dylan Walker was an excellent excuse. Whatever drugs he'd been given didn't allow his own temper to rise, though he felt the insults lobbed his way by Leon's succinct explanations. His chest twanged painfully in that Steve had provided McCann with some sort of method to this madness.

Muscles shaking, Danny especially glowered unhappily over the tone of Leon's voice as he meaningfully stressed what might not have been too long. Leon meant that they hadn't yet had enough time to get better acquainted … _Spenser's way_ ... yet his words did little to quiet Walker's rage. But time was ticking steadily on and Spenser had definite plans for him; plans which everyone seemed to know and accept, with the distinct exception of himself … and of course, the furious Dylan Walker.

"You're _nothing_ to him; a blip in time. Utterly disposable once he's done playing with you. _Then I get you._ I get to do whatever I want with you. Just remember that," Dylan threatened Danny as he wavered on his feet just beyond Leon, the 2IC debating his next move. He met Danny's hazy, unfocused expression and stared hard at him, his eyes raking over the much too casual attire and unsteady, weak demeanor. He saw the bruised face and hunched posture. Dylan measured and weighed the uncertainty and nervousness before sneering in disgust at the drug-induced muscular tremors.

"Where is he then?" Walker growled. "Where's Spense? If this ... stupidity ... gets in the way of the mission, there's going to be hell to pay."

"True," Smitty added calmly and rationally. "But the boss would never let that happen, Dylan. Let's go chase him down so you can talk to him. Privately. Where is he, Leon?"

"At the main rally going over a few contingency plans. He said there was a lead to obtain the target sooner. So he needed to handle these few plans personally," Leon provided, relaxing ever so slightly as Walker backed up a full step and Smitty whispered something else in his ear. "He'll be happy to see you, sir. Especially with what sounds like good news for the next phase of the mission."

Things were easing. Smitty had his hand on Dylan's shoulder to offer him support and encourage him to mentally switch gears towards a different direction. Still, Leon and Smitty shared a nervous, pensive look even though Leon knew nothing more would be said or done at that point.

"He must be managing the intel we've been waiting on," Smitty prodded helpfully. "Confirmation of location and final word on best window to act. We should go, D. See what's up? Because Leon is right, the boss will need you there."

"Yeah. Sure," Dylan answered curtly. "Let's go. I _definitely_ need to talk to him." He was livid, but able to keep himself somewhat under control as he turned and stalked from the penthouse with his lackeys in tow.

"Son of a bitch," Leon hissed under his breath as he watched the men leave the way they'd come. As soon as the door slammed closed and the sound of the elevator purred away, he rubbed his hand over his face, wincing as he connected with his sore nose. What had happened was nearly his own worst nightmare and he rounded on Danny in anger, stress showing in his eyes as he forced him back down into the cushioned dining room chair.

"Eat the _damned_ food!" Leon slapped the table before shoving his finger into Danny's face. "We're both lucky Smitty was with him or you'd be dead right now. The boss will calm him down — but not by much — it won't be this easy regardless, so just do as I say and stay out of the way!"

"Great," Danny muttered, completely understanding Leon's angry words of advice. Unable to stop shaking, he allowed his legs to fold under him with Leon's firm shove. "This was easy?"

His ability to think clearly seemed to have fled him, but he remembered Dylan's fingers wrapped once before around his neck. Strong, relentless hands which had so wanted him purged from existence.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny remained disconcertingly shaky and mentally vague after he forced himself to eat a few bites of food. There was a veil between reality and his brain which refused to go away. He felt no better after trying to eat and might have been even more out of sorts after Leon deposited him back in the master bedroom.

Unable to clearly focus on his surroundings, Danny had nothing to do and nowhere to go. He literally had zero options with no backup, no visibility into the outside world and what seemed like an army breathing down his neck. The front door of the penthouse opened to a narrow hallway. From there, the private elevator could be accessed, or conversely, the obligatory stairwell in case of fire. He thought he remembered seeing something like that, but then innately sensed neither option mattered much. He vaguely recalled trying already and apparently failing. Now, with more drugs in his system, he could never hope to even get that far a second time.

He dimly considered locking himself inside the bedroom. However, he soon learned that none of the doors locked after McCann had his druthers, and Danny heaved a sigh as he rubbed his face in an attempt to dispel a surge of lightheadedness. His ideas were stupid and his ability to initiate action, nil.

On top of everything else which had gone so very wrong, Dylan's arrival was distinctly unsettling.

Danny's eyes burned. A relentless dull throbbing seemed permanent at the base of his skull and his muscles held a constant fatigue. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Danny was consumed by a sense of utter helplessness as he tried to at least think about what had been done to him thus far. After only a day though, his memories were fractured and inconsistent. He was left with vague feelings of being touched … petted … toyed with and he nervously rent the front of his t-shirt, nearly twisting it into a knot at the depths of his faulty memory.

_"Relax, Danno," Spenser's voice softly intoned from overhead as a stray hand moved his shirt aside. There was a sound in the background – noise from the television, but the words meant nothing. Danny had been stuck in place on the sofa, cradled gently in Spenser's arms. "The game's just beginning … I want you to want this … you just need a bit of a nudge in the right direction. Relax, watch the game with me … it's been a long day for … the both of us."_

A breath seized in his throat as he swayed in place and his fingertips nearly strangled a hole in the neck of the t-shirt. Game? _Games_.

No it was Grace. Why did she come to mind? _What had he seen? Was she really safe?_

What had he _seen_? A dizzying view of her as if from above? As if he might be spying on her? On TV or had she been with him … or both? He didn't know … he couldn't remember. But he certainly could still feel the ghosting of the older man's large hand over his stomach.

 _Up, down and round … repetitively soothing_ … but not right … so …dangerously … wrong.

He choked, his fist flying to his mouth to offset a cry of anguish as his eyes flooded with tears.

_What had happened?_

He didn't know. He couldn't remember one single thing with any honest clarity. So he forced himself to move on as he vainly sought answers in his mental catalogue as to what type of drug or drugs Spenser might have subjected him to. His mind flittered though and he lost his attention span more than once, confused by the jumble in his head. He simply couldn't concentrate enough on years' worth of professional knowledge to allow him even a toe-hold of understanding.

Blearily and fighting tears as a wave of utter despair made him shiver, Danny glanced up through damp lashes as Leon stalked unexpectedly into the bedroom. Leon lingered in the doorway as if needing to ensure Danny was indeed there and not trying some obscure method of escape. He grunted at the haze which fouled the blue eyes, scowling in apparent anger at Danny's hunch-shouldered, motionless shape as he sat perched on the mattress.

No words were shared. Nothing at all as Leon almost silently walked away, lurking close enough should something untoward be attempted. Or - God help him - if Dylan Walker returned, because he knew he'd never be able to defend himself. With no recourse and needing some semblance of hope, Danny found himself wanting to believe in the big man. Leon had sworn the food was safe - including the sealed bottle of water which he'd retrieved from the refrigerator. And it apparently had been. Next - and though he was under orders to do so - he'd kept Dylan away with a calm persuasiveness.

_Leon._

Danny stared almost blankly after the big man and blinked in confusion. Why had Leon told him about Grace and Steve? Not much on either, yet he hung on the words. He had to believe that Grace was fine ... she was safe. But Steve? The slim memory of blood and his unconscious friend teased him.

"Steve," Danny whispered to himself as he came full circle on Leon's message. If what he'd been told were true on top of the things he thought he remembered, Steve was badly injured. He'd also blame himself for Danny's disappearance and pull apart the island trying to find him. No matter what any doctor might say, if he were able, Steve would check himself out against medical advice. He'd push too hard and look everywhere, but Danny was already doubting his team's ability to find him. McCann was too smart. They would look - Steve would undoubtedly work himself into the ground - and all the time, Danny would be right there. Perfectly trapped in plain sight with no way out. Then, they'd all simply leave. Never to be seen or heard from again.

But there were other questions. For one, why had Leon told him about Steve's condition, and _how_ had he even known? Danny stopped there because it could easily mean that Steve was being watched inside the boundaries of the hospital. It spelled disaster for him, his team ... and his daughter. All of it could be clear proof of McCann's penultimate power to know all and wield that knowledge at will. None of what the man had ever threatened was idle.

Leon. There could be much more to the man. Something intriguing and decidedly safer for Danny's loved ones. But Danny thought he recalled the man's large hands around his biceps. He thought he remembered the feeling of being hoisted backwards and held in place for McCann to have a short one-sided _play-date_. That had been Leon, too. Why? He alternately remembered or sensed things which made no sense.

Pensively, Danny rubbed the ache which remained resident in the back of his neck. There'd been a fist fight. The bruises on Leon's face ... the swollen lip and Danny's open blackish marks supported that as fact even if he couldn't quite recall the incident.

With self-loathing for his uncontrolled weakness, Danny smothered the next image which dared to sneak forward. That of McCann looming over him. He cursed quietly under his breath as he replayed being force to drink ... water? Something apparently tainted regardless and he argued himself back to his original pondering.

The mystery that was Leon.

Danny's chin sagged tiredly to his chest as he discounted each and every thing his hazy thoughts had just conjured. What did it matter? It didn't matter. He was too tired and sick to care. His head hurt and so he turned, crawling up the bed to aim towards the pile of pillows as an unshakeable desire to simply curl up and sleep over-took him from top to bottom.

He shouldn't do this either; he shouldn't stay in the bedroom or choose to stay in the bed where he would fall asleep. The decisions were poor and his actions unsound, yet he didn't stop himself as he shoved a pillow under his head, sprawling out on his stomach. Danny's finger strayed to an itchy spot on the small of his back, but he couldn't quite reach it.

Danny fidgeted uncomfortably as his hand fell away, the itch not quite strong enough to be worth the effort. His eyes were closing and he was falling asleep as a sliver of consciousness trickled in to tease him, muted though as his breath evened out: _no matter what, he was in a dangerous place._

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	13. Chapter 13

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Persistently drugged and kept at a disadvantage, Danny wasn't certain how long he'd been trapped in the penthouse. Hours? Days? Time had easily begun to blend. He had no way of telling or understanding what was going on outside of his new smaller world and the seemingly arbitrary use of drugs kept him utterly off balance. McCann's men came and went with no rhyme nor reason; as did the leader, himself. He fawned over Danny when he was there; more so when Dylan was present to up the ante and create what he termed 'an excitement'.

Try as he might though, Danny had trouble focusing and pulling away fast enough. The occasional drugs forced on him prevented much of any reaction at all, not even when Grace was brought up and hung over his head. Because of the drugs, his reactions were dulled and he couldn't stop himself from being drawn into the man's arms.

McCann was delighted. Walker's rage escalated. Danny was growing increasingly distracted and despondent through each muddled episode. Despite that, Danny dimly sensed a general unease growing amongst his unhappy threesome; something worse and foreboding. With Spenser's attentions being doted more upon him, Dylan's rise in emotions was no longer being adequately addressed. And, while Danny might not have been entirely aware, the aura had definitely begun to alter with the larger team as well, and it wasn't all related to the stress of their pending mission.

There was no doubt that McCann had made a poor personal decision which no longer solely impacted his lover. His obsession with Danny and laissez-faire attitude towards the mission was affecting his men. His penchant to occupy his free time with Danny was becoming problematic and perhaps even bleeding into his ability to properly command.

There was nothing which Danny could do about that; he was the catalyst and easily disliked as such.

But Danny could barely recall what was truly happening at the best of times. He would rouse with Spenser wrapped around him and it didn't seem to matter if they were alone or if many of his team were in attendance. On those occasions, it was as if McCann was intentionally demonstrating his show of power or even showing Danny off as a prized trophy. His stunned struggle to free himself would be met with amusement and loud laughter. A dazed walk down the hallway might become a gauntlet where a sly unwanted touch, just out of sight from their powerful boss, would add to his misery.

With only the need to escape on his mind, Danny had even made unwise the error of trying to leave with the majority of the team present. Confused and in a murky haze, he'd stumbled for the door not realizing bets were being placed as to how far McCann might allow him to go.

The jibes and cat-calls were soon lobbed towards Leon, something which infuriated the big man no end and he'd come to blows with two of his peers who lacked the ability to edit their comments. This new distraction had permitted Danny ample time to gain ground. Almost alarmingly so, yet that had merely added to McCann's general sense of enjoyment to up the stakes. So it was Dylan who had sensed the underlying current beneath their teams' boorish behavior. It was he who first understood the growing layers of true animosity and how the detective's presence was beginning to unravel their core.

Stuck inside his head, Danny had missed everything going on around him. He'd actually touched the emergency door to the stairwell before an infuriated Leon had snagged an arm around his chest to pluck him backwards. Then halfway down the private hallway and just before entering the penthouse, he'd been transferred into Spense's waiting arms.

Danny's snuffled watery pleas had gone unnoticed when he'd been unceremoniously shoved over to Spenser; unwanted fingers soon gently carded through his hair. Tucked against the older man's sturdy body, he'd been forced back inside the penthouse where the men made good on bets, simultaneously teasing the two others whom Leon had thoroughly thrashed into submission.

Feeling like a dog at heel even though he was provided a roomy berth, Leon had angrily covered Spenser's six. In short he also knew the happy go lucky display was a sham and a precursor to a larger issue. While he might have dodged a bullet, the detective had become the hated joke of their mission and possibly the unlucky albatross to bring them all trouble. So no one could dare fault the big man's ongoing mood and demand for space, since not a single one of them coveted his unfortunate role.

Other times, Danny would wake completely alone, but left with a strange feeling of having been more pliable … more accepting of Spense's attentions. Though his memories were completely dulled, he'd stumble to the bathroom to dry heave until Leon forced him back to bed or - worse yet - to eat something. His world had become a dizzying cycle of McCann and Walker, punctuated by periods of blackout or near crippling bouts of emotional waves of nausea.

Yet, he hadn't been entirely abused - at least not that he could remember - something which Spense said would come in time … most definitely after the mission was completed. As he had happily announced, Spenser McCann liked this temporary period of courting and foreplay. However, he conversely vowed that he didn't want Danny drugged completely into submission once their time was affirmed.

 _"I want you to want this, Danno."_ While he couldn't remember much, those words ping-ponged though his head nearly every minute. _"Just a nudge in the right direction."_

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny stared at himself in the mirror and could barely focus on his own features. Left alone again after a baffling blackout period of time, he was in the bathroom and preparing to take a shower. He had put off taking one since his propitious arrival and now, he felt musty … dirty and raggedly used up. His back itched and burned uncomfortably; as did anywhere McCann's hands had lingered too long.

McCann had threatened to bathe him himself if he didn't take one that very day and Danny knew that the promise was far from an idle one. He cringed and pushed the visual from his mind. Besides, he needed a shower just for his own sake and maybe - just maybe - he would feel human again and be able to clear his mind.

He wavered for a minute, not remembering what he needed to do next. His fingers plucked at the t-shirt he was wearing, his eyes wandering to the neatly folded identical one. Shower. Change. The t-shirt was precisely the same and he frowned, unable though to show his anger despite the forced state of control. For a longer moment, Danny found himself staring at his fingers and not moving. His mind wandered dumbly without being able to settle on any one thing. The shirt and what it signified, Steve or even Grace.

"Hurry it up," Leon growled from somewhere behind him, the rustle of a newspaper telling as he grudgingly guarded his charge. "You heard the boss. Don't just stand there. Shower. Change your clothes."

"Sure," Danny whispered as he fumbled the old t-shirt off, only to scratch idly at his hip. With the big man lurking, he was reluctant though to shed all of his clothes, his fingers plucked at the waistline of the sleep pants he'd been relegated to wearing. But there was a pinching itch which had worsened to more than occasionally catch his waning attention span. Now, as he readied to bathe, the soft rub of the pants created a heated burn from his hip across to the small of his back and he was reminded of the discomfort.

He hissed uncomfortably, his fingers crab-walking blindly backwards, rubbing and trying to soothe the irritated skin just as he connected with the edge of _something which didn't belong._

 _"What the hell?"_ Danny murmured under his breath, dropping his hand quickly as a noise from outside drew his attention.

"Why the hell isn't the water running? Take the damned shower!" Danny startled at the booming voice, made worse when Leon's shape appeared in the doorway. The big man stared at him long and hard, his head cocked as he eyed Danny from top to bottom.

"What are you doing in here?" Leon said, scowling darkly as Danny held his ground. "What's the problem?"

"Shower," Danny replied. "Just … a shower. No problem."

Leon didn't budge though. Instead, he paused before he stalked past Danny to turn on the water, heat blasting almost immediately though the bathroom.

"Take the damned shower then ... with the water actually _running_ ," Leon hissed angrily as steam began to leak out from behind the frosted glass enclosure. "Pants off. And if you fall in there, I'm not picking your ass up."

"Fine," Danny murmured. He moved as quickly as he could, which wasn't saying much based on how he was feeling. His hands were trembling and he lost his balance as he tried to step out of the old soft pants, nearly falling in the process before he could seek a brief moment of privacy. Behind him, he heard the disgusted snort from Leon and he made a face at the sound, equally unhappy that he was still being watched.

Once inside the enclosure, he turned his face directly up into the hot stream of water, sagging in relief as it poured over his hair, face and neck. He stood there for as long as he could, hands propped against the tiled wall for balance as he simply allowed the water to beat over him until Leon cursed and shouted at him again.

"You should be done!" The big man bellowed from just a few feet away. Danny cringed, but he was feeling sick. Dizzy even, likely from the heat. He waffled and murmured something to himself, zoning in and out for a few minutes, risking a real injury due to his unsteady condition.

"Get out of there now!" Leon roared, closer still. Reluctantly, Danny carefully pushed himself off the wall to fumble with a small shampoo bottle. But a few seconds later, he hissed uncomfortably as soapy water cascaded down his back, creating a worse burn which briefly flared until it died into a dull scratchy throb. Closing his eyes in concentration, Danny rinsed the soap away while he rubbed at his waist before crab-walking his fingers further back to find a section of raised, bumpy, irritated skin.

He rubbed harder at the area, the itch and burn warring with each other over the intrusion of scented soap. Danny fretted about the discomfort but then was confused by the feel of skin which was too smooth. Not only too smooth, but oddly slick and weirdly defined. Another hard rub raised an edge and Danny tiredly leaned his head against the tiled wall. He used his fingernails and pulled the piece until he felt the tug on his skin. Whatever it was began to lift easily and Danny tugged again, surprised this time when he wound up holding a thin piece of plastic in front of his nose.

Confused, Danny stared at the square as the water beat down from above and Leon began to holler from just inside the bathroom door. He stared at it until the water ran down his arm to tear his find from his fingers just as Leon slammed the sliding doors wide open and a rush of cold air made him shiver. A moment later, the drug patch disappeared invisibly in a swirl of warm soapy water towards the enclosure's wide drain.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Leon barked at Danny as he studied the detective's bowed stance.

"Nothing. Shower," Danny whispered, his eyes blinking wildly for a moment because he'd completely lost his train of thought again. Now, he could only stare blindly at his keeper as the water was turned off and a towel was thrust into his arms.

Leon watched the detective dress without saying a single word. Behind him, the shower head dripped relentlessly and he turned, grimacing with a bit of indecision when he spied the shine of the drug patch now adhered to the drain.

So damaged, there was little point in reapplying it. But there was the option of advising Spenser of its disappearance and Leon pulled an unhappy face. He closed his eyes to weigh his options and the potential response for each from McCann. Then he considered his inability to aid the trapped detective.

The drug which had been dispensed through the skin would take time to wear off; possibly at least four long hours. It would be far from perfect, yet it would provide an opportunity for the man to have a chance. Deciding to plead ignorance should the question arise, Leon turned a blind eye to the lost drug patch as he left the bathroom to corral his bare foot, damp, drug-addled charge who was once again focused on the penthouse's now triple-locked main door.

"God damnit. Every damn thirty seconds!" Leon cursed as he jogged down the hall towards the sounds of the door being rattled from the inside. "Fucking incredible".

His lips tightly pursed into a thin white line as he watched the detective stubbornly begin to fumble with the simple black zip tie which bound the two golden door handles together. His fingers slipped awkwardly as he vainly tried to loosen or break the thick plastic. Leon's was a simple fix as the team came and went, yet the zip ties worked well enough as the detective sagged in despair against the door.

No matter how hard he might try, he couldn't get out and yet, it didn't take much for the younger man to initiate his one and only quest of escape given the slightest opportunity. Regardless of who may or may not be present inside the penthouse, he was certainly keeping at least Leon on his toes.

"Get over here!" He grabbed Danny by the scruff of his neck with one strong hand to propel him back towards the bedroom. "You are a royal pain in the ass!" Leon growled as Danny stumbled and almost fell. "You're not going anywhere!"

"Just … give me a chance," Danny pleaded, his voice raspy as Leon's hand painfully gripped the back of his neck. "Leon? Please ... I need to go. Just please ... help me."

But the big man merely flung him into the bedroom, his face a mask of anger as Danny tripped and landed sprawled across the bed.

Leon glared down at the younger man, saying nothing because anything he might say or any decision he could make would be ultimately disastrous to his own stance inside the McCann organization. It had taken him months to gain access to McCann's inner circle. Babysitter or bodyguard, he wasn't about to give up his hard diligent work for one person when so many other lives could be at risk. Plus, he'd just given the detective a chance by ignoring the drug patch which had been removed during his shower. He couldn't do more than that or risk his own neck with grievous results. So instead of answering, Leon simply walked away. He left the detective stranded inside the bedroom with a secret hope that a chance might be realized - if it was meant to be.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	14. Chapter 14

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

He was in Spenser's arms as he slowly regained some of his wits, Dylan cowed and seated at the dining room table with Leon resolutely standing at attention. Danny didn't know what had gone on, but he sensed a personal loss. Additionally and based on the submissive expression and red welt along a cheek, whatever had happened certainly hadn't boded well for McCann's second.

His heart lurched when he realized that he couldn't remember. It was as if his brain had been switched off and left to see nothing but a dim, gray fog. He could barely form a new thought. Then again, where he now roused to find himself, didn't precisely give him a comforting feeling, either. And therefore, whatever had happened - what was still continuing to happen at that very moment - didn't bode well for him either as Dylan eyed him icily.

 _"H'ppned?"_ Danny murmured in a daze, his attempt to untangle arms and legs from around Spense forestalled by the stronger man's cagey hold.

They were on the plush sofa again and cuddled one against the other as classical music circulated through the large penthouse. All the blinds to the windows were drawn tightly closed and only dim overhead lighting along with a few candles set a peaceful tone. He was cold though, uncomfortably so, as a too-high air conditioning swirled frigid air around them. If he'd been more aware, he'd have realized that this, too, was intentional on Spense's part. Causing Danny's discomfort - whether it be emotional or physical - would allow Spense to offer a solution. In this case, shared body warmth.

"Are you back now? At least for a few minutes?" Spense hushed happily, a kiss burned onto Danny's temple as he held him close. "Such a caustic soul ... even when there are no odds at all in your favor. You tried to leave me again, dear heart, after picking a fight with my Dylan. Regardless, you do know that you can't keep this up forever, Danno?"

What Danny could scarcely recall was a wrestling match with both Dylan and McCann, reluctantly mediated by Leon. There had been another semi-heated debate where Danny had once again been chastised for his disobedience and subsequently doped into this more submissive state.

The error which had gotten him to his current circumstance within Spense's embrace had been twofold. Not realizing that the drug patch was no longer attached to Danny's back after his shower, Spense had been much too complacent across the board. He'd missed the increasing clarity in Danny's eyes as he attempted an early test of easing up on the general use of any drug whatsoever. He hadn't anticipated the sudden strength in Danny's immediate and unmitigated rejection to his latest advances. A rejection which had only been compounded when Dylan had rudely celebrated the failed sexual overtures which had merely provided fuel for Spenser's anger.

An argument had ensued between the couple and Danny had made an unbridled attempt at escape with the lovers' spat in full swing. Leon had stepped astutely off to the side as if to give the two a modicum of privacy as their words escalated. He'd provided the detective with room to act, which he'd eagerly taken. Because even bleary-eyed, Danny had noticed the lack of zip ties on the inner door handles; something which Leon had intentionally avoided using upon his superiors' dual return. The big man's excuse would be simple if ever questioned: with all of them present, why bother?

In fact, Spenser had indeed noticed their omission and wholeheartedly approved the lack of ties, so there'd been no issue with the lapse. It was as if the man had wanted the detective to make an escape attempt. And of course, he'd tried - nearly instantly.

Feigning annoyance and even a respect at knowing the couple might wish some privacy to argue, Leon had done his best to fade even farther away from the men. He wisely used McCann's obvious desire for privacy with his 2IC as his valid excuse. Again, McCann had only quirked an eyebrow at the big man as he physically distanced himself, followed by a queer grin aimed at his detective.

Using his typical disgruntled demeanor as an armed _babysitter_ , Leon had allowed his boss to think what he'd wanted. Spense had laughed about eventually finding the plastic drug patch in the bottom of the shower stall. Its falling off was seen as a realistic outcome of Danny's bathing or an inadvertent scrubbing at irritated skin, and Leon wasn't at all considered to be at fault for not noticing. But while McCann assumed him in on the game, Leon was trying to broaden the detective's chance at a very real escape.

His mechanizations simply hadn't been enough though.

With the zip ties not in use and Leon just on the fringes of their trio, Danny had gained significant ground getting out the main door. He'd immediately bypassed the elevator, tripping to his knees just shy of the emergency stairwell when tackled from behind. But it hadn't been Leon who'd thwarted his escape attempt; this time, it had been an infuriated Dylan Walker. Their scuffle in the exterior hallway had been short but abusive, with Danny managing a wild, lucky swing to connect directly with the second's cheek.

The final outcome had been spectacular with Leon acting as the odd referee while following each of McCann's orders to restrain his latest obsession while he tugged and pulled his beloved second to his feet with soothing words.

Danny didn't remember the incident. He had blacked out for a long period of time and to a sketchy memory of Dylan Walker screaming at Spenser for the fault of his mere existence. Now, he was waking and things had once again changed at a startling pace as McCann lounged possessively with him on the sofa.

"Spense. Want to get … up. Leave ... s'cold," Danny argued uselessly, his voice breaking as the older man ran butterfly light fingertips up and down his arm. Danny shivered from the cold and then at the lightness of the soft touch, unable to stop his squirm when the man's hands eventually rubbed low across his belly. The only reply he received was Spense's soft chuckle into his hair as he continued to tease and caress his skin just below the soft elastic of his sleep pants. His fingers disappearing even lower causing Danny to twist unhappily in his arms, his breath becoming erratic as he was stroked with a deliberate skill just out of sight.

"This is fucking out of control," Dylan griped, his hands fisted on the table as he glared at Spense who was continuing to ignore him. "Spense, I swear to god ... get him out of here!"

"Stubborn to a fault," Spense murmured softly, his eyes only on Danny's face as he rained down more gentle kisses on his cheeks and eyes just missing his lips for the awkward angle. "But no, you want to stay here. You do. Dylan didn't mean it before; he understands and he's going to allow us all the time we need to get to know each other better. So no, you don't want to _leave_ , Danno, because this feels good … so very, very good and you can get warmer with me."

 _"St-stop,"_ Danny murmured as Spense gently palmed and lingered, his hips canting happily for more as his body automatically responded to the heat of the man's fingers. He lazily blinked through his watery eyes, his voice lost when the fingers of Spense's free hand caressed his flushed cheek only to find himself melting into the comforting warmth of Spense's side seconds later.

"There we go," Spense soothed, prodded and gently coaxed him to relax even more. "Why would you want to leave when you're so peaceful … so comfortable … here? With me."

 _"Don't,"_ Danny breathed out, but his murmur was inaudible as his eyes closed against the disorienting blur of light and muted color in the room. He lost his train of thought immediately. He suddenly couldn't remember what he'd wanted to say or what their argument had been about. He didn't know what he wanted but that hardly mattered because his muscles refused to cooperate, made worse by warm caresses which he couldn't find the wherewithal to physically fight. Yet his body seemed to be on auto-pilot as it enjoyed each sensation.

 _Please,_ his mind weakly screamed at him to do something. Yet Danny ignored that, too, as he folded languidly into Spenser McCann's heat and peaceful heartbeat. He couldn't remember. His brain felt like it was melting, and he didn't seem able to string a single thought into a whole action.

" _Shhh,_ Danno," Spense said, a smile in his voice as his hands roamed boldly over Danny's body. With the rebellious nature dampened into submission by a fresh drug patch applied just above the irritated skin, the man was docile and delightfully content as his free hand weakly sought his captor's. Spense ignored the weak attempts to struggle by taking the opportunity to interlace their fingers together and spread kisses along the expanse of Danny's knuckles. Instead of fighting more, Danny unconsciously gripped him in turn, his eyes darkly liquid and his demeanor malleable, earning a pleased chuckle in response. "Enjoy the moment … enjoy the quiet … enjoy _me_ ," Spense urged quietly.

Danny murmured an odd sound, unsure if he was now being disagreeable or comforted as he began to doze. The teasing circles drawn across his bare skin eased a hot itch and brought a strange calm to sensitized nerves. He shivered again, his feet cold and t-shirt mysteriously gone as he lost his will to struggle for a chance to find some warmth. Spenser's hands countered the chill; as did the long length of his body and Danny found himself seeking relief by cuddling closer still.

"Good boy," Spenser cooed as Danny snuggled willingly into his side. "It's time to sleep. Go to sleep now." Slipping into a light doze as he was lulled away from his fears, Danny missed Spenser's gleeful smile and reassurances that he could trust him.

He missed the promise that he'd be more careful in the future and ready soon enough for another test despite Dylan's angry growl from the dining room table.

He missed the subsequent outburst from the furious second that McCann was truly becoming unhinged enough to threaten the success of their mission. Something which Leon oddly agreed to just in the background before he was dismissed from the penthouse entirely.

 _"Hmmm?"_ Danny groaned as the comforting warmth unexpectedly shifted from underneath him a moment later. He shivered when it disappeared entirely and he was positioned on a few of the pillows which decorated the couch. Propped up and discarded with the dusky scent of McCann lingering in his nostrils, Danny floated lazily through space and time while he shivered again.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Take a break, Leon," Spenser said as he tossed a light throw around Danny's waist. "And this time, make it a long one. Danno will be out for a while now and I need to speak to Dylan."

"Sir? A ... break?" Leon expressed his hesitation to leave, his brow furrowed until Spenser compounded his command with a casual glance towards his 2IC. His intentions were turning towards a personal nature and he required additional privacy.

"Yes, Sir," he said when his boss tilted his head as subtle demand. However, he was uncertain if he should also physically move the unconscious detective first to potentially safer quarters based upon the abrupt swing in climate. He hid his frown when McCann guessed the unspoken question, a mere shake of his head indicating that he could simply go for the evening.

"He's perfectly fine right where he is, Leon. But thank you for the thought," Spenser murmured softly, the words meant to be more than enough to temporarily relieve Leon from his unenviable job as babysitter. "You've earned some time to yourself; now go. Leave us." Spense subsequently ignored Leon's exit, pausing over Danny, a fond smile crookedly tilting up one side of his mouth. His fingers trailed teasingly along the Five-0 detective's bare arm, eliciting another sensitive twitch from the man. With a dramatic sigh for needing to walk away, he threaded his hand through the blonde hair before giving it a gentle tug.

Spenser stopped then, taking a full step away from Danny and the couch to hold his hand out towards his very sullen Dylan. They were as alone as they were going to be and he needed to make amends. The younger man looked up from where he sat, his face dour and his mood foul.

"Come here, boy," Spenser said softly, his demand clear but his tone full of a new want and need. Suddenly, it was as if Danny no longer existed as he honed in on his very upset significant other. "I need to apologize to you … I do … I was wrong not to tell you. I'm sorry that you found out the way you did, which was far from fair." No one else now existed to Spense as Dylan obediently got to his feet from where he'd been seated at the table. "

"Why the hell is he here? What were you thinking?" Dylan pushed out through clenched teeth. "I think it's more than some lousy opportunity. Am I not good enough all of a sudden, Spense? Are you bored with me?" He folded his arms, refusing to let his issue go and reluctant to move closer even when Spenser cocked his head in warning.

"Bored? You're perfect in every way, D," Spenser vowed softly. "So wonderfully perfect and I need you more than you can imagine. You _know_ that this isn't about you … this is about me and the challenge … my need to have a bit more … _fun_. Fun that has nothing to do with you and me as a couple. Nothing that I would ever allow to threaten our job here; nor our men's trust in me. As a leader."

"For the record, I don't like it," Dylan argued. "You know that I don't like it at all, Spense. And frankly, I think you're turning a blind eye to what the men have been saying ... you're treading on unsteady ground. Even Smitty has said as much."

"It's an exaggeration. Things will be fine," Spenser calmly insisted before choosing to ignore the warnings to focus solely on Dylan's emotions. "But this here - with him? You haven't had trouble with my … _itch_ … in the past."

Spenser smiled warmly, his expression an open book as he teased Dylan to his side so that he could cup his face lovingly between his hands. Dylan was indeed quite jealous and perhaps he had pushed much too hard. Spenser tried to calm him with gentle touches and another meaningful kiss. "Why now? They're all just … _toys_ so to speak … none are keepers."

"He's different and you know it," Dylan said, his arms wending around the older man's waist as he interlaced his fingers with a comfortable familiarity. "You want him to join us. You wanted him the minute you saw him ... you haven't been able to stop thinking about him since we were here last! And now? _Now_ you think he's going to join us here ... and actually become part of our team!"

He was still angry, but softening as he always did when Spense melded their hips together. He heaved in a deep breath as their foreheads touched, firmly shaking off Spenser's ability to manipulate his moods or so neatly change the subject. Determined for once to speak his mind and truly feel heard. "He's special to you … you _like_ him. Worse than that, you're _infatuated_ with him and think that you can turn him …. so you're very different with him … you treat him differently from the others, and I don't like it, Spense. The others see it, too."

"Ah, you worry too much, love." Spenser silenced his second with a deep, warm lingering kiss. He leaned back to gently caress the reddened bruise. "You're special to me. And I don't like him as much as he's … entertaining. A challenge to be broken. You don't have to worry, boy. You'll never have to worry about him … or us. Trust me."

"If you loved me, you'd listen to what I'm saying and take me seriously. I want him gone, Spense," Dylan replied defensively, his voice rising as he spat out each word. "Gone. Today. GET. HIM. GONE. Now, Spense! I want you to get rid of him, or I'll do it myself. Permanently!"

"Soon," Spenser crooned. He ran his fingers lovingly through Dylan's hair. His younger second was vibrating with an angry jealousy and after what he'd just done, it was true that he needed to calm him. But at the same time, Spense wanted Dylan to understand that there would only be so much he'd be willing to compromise on. "Soon, but not yet. He intrigues me … much like the one we shared in Dubai."

"That one in Dubai?" Dylan said incredulously, a distrustful snort on the heels of the look he aimed directly into Spenser's eyes. Spense had clearly had his druthers with the beautiful blonde model first, but he'd allowed Dylan an unexpected extreme. The woman's fate had been rather … unkind to say the least. Their experience though had taken each over an unlikely edge. One that seemed to bring them to a new erotic high. Nonetheless, Dylan still doubted that Spense meant his words. "But? That's … strange coming from you about this one. You thought he'd work with us - with you. You had plans for him. Why the change of heart?"

The woman he'd killed after both he and Spense had had their ways with her, had crossed a new, erotic line. He had choked her numerous times, reviving her just to rape and torture her again. It had gone on for hours with Spenser watching with an avid interest until the final act. Afterwards, the eroticism of their union had been indescribable. Yet Dylan didn't believe Spense now. Based on his earlier stance, Dylan was certain that Spense would never permit such a fate for the Five-0 officer.

"You made it quite clear that he was going to be yours. In fact, you said I couldn't touch him … _at all_. So now, you've changed your mind? Does that mean you're already giving up on having him join us? You just admitted that you're far from being bored with him just yet," Dylan challenged his superior boldly, his face altering immediately from petulance to a keen deadly interest. Watching closely as Spenser shrugged nonchalantly as if changing his mind about his former stance. His nostrils flared at the remembered feeling of his fingers as they flexed so strongly around the young woman's neck. He'd snuffed her too many times to count. She'd died literally in his hands while he'd been buried deeply inside her already brutalized body. Spenser had watched the entire affair, too. Something which had spurred them back together moments after Dylan had left the dead body wasting off to the side.

"You're entirely serious? That if I want him next then I can have him … when you're done?" Dylan's voice dropped to a low seductive octave as he rubbed his groin meaningfully into Spenser's, the soft accepting groan only offering him more encouragement. Matched in height, they met each other one for one, breath already catching as they whispered into partly open lips. But where Spenser's eyes were closed, Dylan's were open, their black glitter intent and dangerous as he measured the older man's response. "And you'll watch? Is that what you're saying to me? Is it? Do you mean it?"

At those whispered entreaties, Spenser moaned around a desperate nod. His eyes opened partly as he ran his thumbs gently over the ridge of Dylan's perfect black brows. "Yes, yes. Because I'm not deluded into thinking that he'll ever truly join me at my side. He's not you ... not by a long shot, my dear D. He's not going to come on board and I probably already knew that even though I insisted on trying. So yes, you can have what's left of him when I get bored ... in other ways," Spenser whispered, an urgent need had taken over his tone now. He leaned into Dylan, his fingers purposefully flicking open each button on his shirt. Within seconds, he was unzipping Dylan's pants and reaching inside to palm the hard warmth which fell into his hands. He grinned at his next words as he wrapped his fingers gently around the hardening shaft, the double-entrendre completely intended. "Just let me play with him … just a bit longer. Afterwards, you can do whatever you want, just like in Dubai."

"Do you think that's going to make me feel better? Because it doesn't! You should have waited," Dylan hissed sullenly, in spite of the way his body was already responding to Spense's skilled manipulations. He grunted appreciatively deep in his throat, his train of thought broken as Spense began to stroke his length at a leisurely pace. With a start for his lapse, he fought to refocus, his own hand covering Spenser's to make him stop.

"What's wrong?" McCann purred into his seconds' ear. "Make-up sex is our favorite kind of sport, love."

"Just. Stop," Dylan ground out, teeth clenched. He tried to remain serious, though in fact, he was fighting his desire to push even harder into Spense's willing hand.

"But I'm serious," McCann whispered seductively. "Let me have him ... then, he's yours."

"Do you really mean it?" He asked carefully, pleased with this particular caveat since it was a big concession coming from Spenser. Yet, he was unwilling to give in so easily or believe what could be an idle promise with the man's hand wrapped around his eager cock. Instead of thrusting forward as he wanted, Dylan stood still. He forced himself to glance to the downed detective to make his point even more clear.

"It's too damned early to have him here and this could screw up the mission … the men are angry. Hell, Spense! _I'm_ angry! We had a plan … and a personal agreement!" As his annoyance re-surged, Dylan gasped out loud. His eyes widened as Spenser firmly tightened his hold before giving a stronger, almost painful tug.

"I know," Spense agreed quietly, but this time his smile had become a threatening, lewd sneer as Dylan chose to argue longer. His fingers gripped in warning, hard enough for a second pained gasp to escape Dylan's lips which he smothered in a deep kiss.

"Calm down," Spenser warned as Dylan's fingers found his shoulders for balance against a pain which nearly took him to his knees. He refused to lessen his hold though until he felt the submissive change. Only then did he return to his smooth, more gentle stroking in reward. "I know and I'm sorry. But he's here now and I want you to trust me. The men will follow suit … we will succeed … nothing will go wrong. I won't allow it. And … if you want him afterwards … if you do, then he's going to be yours. But, D? I _do_ want to watch."

At that, Dylan had to smirk as a dark gleam took over his eyes. Spenser had watched in Dubai. It was a new variation for them. New ground which was incredibly ... erotic.

"Watch?" Dylan breathed out in partial disbelief, the smirk slowly becoming a toothy smile. The concession was mind-boggling when it came to this particular _issue_ and he needed to be certain of Spenser's change of heart. He sniffed appreciably when Spenser merely nodded; the look in his eyes mirroring his own desires as his own hands traveled boldly under Spenser's rucked up shirt. "All right, Spense. Sure. That can most definitely be ... arranged."

The two stood locked in their embrace near the couch unaware of their silent voyeur. Blurry-eyed and confused, Danny had been watching them through heavily lidded eyes. Two enamored shapes, blurred into one as shirts were shed, hands melded across skin, apologies were made and promises were whispered.

He had been distinctly tossed aside as extraneous as the two briefly separated, the larger form of Spenser McCann dominating that of his younger lover as they eased to the floor.

He'd caught snippets of words. All of which were frightening enough and Danny tried to move. He tried to will his legs to work and his hands to _move_ , but with whatever Spense had given him after his last escape attempt, he was completely numb from head to toe.

Tides had yet again changed. This time, completely against him. Slowly recalling the verbal fight between Dylan and Spenser, followed by a slim memory of struggling with the men, Danny moaned so quietly only he heard the sound deep in his throat.

His eyes closed and his brow furrowed in absolute dismay as he shifted his head just enough to bury his face in the softness of a pillow. His entire body was deadened, yet he could still hear. He could hear and listen to what was going on just a few steps away from where he'd been discarded to the side. Words became needy moans, punctuated by the raw sounds of sex-dampened skin sliding over the same.

Exhausted and entirely helpless as his body refused to respond to the most meager of his demands, he didn't have the strength to sob because at that very moment, he was sure that he'd never see daylight again.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	15. Chapter 15

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Doctor Eriq Mercier," Kono rolled her eyes skyward at the Agent's words, not caring that LaRouche could see her disgust, nor read her apparent impatience.

"You've already provided us the background on the doctor and why we were attacked nearly nine weeks ago. INTERPOL already informed us of his work on biochemical products and how this larger mission which McCann was part of, was so badly scuttled," Kono nearly sneered the words rudely.

Even on Skype, both Kono and Chin Ho could see LaRouche's own discomfort as they threw the facts back into her face.

"Scuttled is an understatement," LaRouche admitted. "The primary team which McCann ran backup to failed ..."

"Failed in getting to Mercier ... and yet he did come back! Why!?" Kono shouted, wanting to tear the woman through her computer screen when she muted her side of the call and spoke to someone just out of reach. And while she may have muted her side, both Chin and Kono easily knew that LaRouche and whomever was with her, could hear every single word they continued to say.

"God dammit, Chin!" Kono fisted her hands, her body language expressing every ounce of her disgust, communicated even more loudly when LaRouche glanced into the camera. Next to her, Chin heaved in a lungful of air which came out on a loud growled exhale, mimicking his cousin's anger as she continued her tirade. "What the hell are you all hiding! Your intel was wrong, LaRouche! If McCann ever was in Dubai, he sure as hell isn't now! Commander McGarrett's in the hospital and Detective Williams' missing ... apparently abducted ... by Spenser McCann!"

"What are he and his team doing back here?" Chin demanded to know. "You said his threats about returning were idle because their mission had indeed failed. They lost their primary team under fire and Mercier is back in hiding under your protection."

"So you said," Kono sneered disbelieving into the camera. The two shifted angrily as the INTERPOL side of their connection remained on mute for an incredibly long period of time. Each studied the ever increasing volume of stress which finally broke through LaRouche's original calm demeanor. The French agent nodded again to the person or persons just outside their perimeter and then unmuted the line.

"We may have not entirely told you all of the truth," Agent LaRouche confessed as humbly as she could muster. She paused expecting a loud backlash from the two Five-0 officers. Instead, they remained silent, their anger only knowingly escalating. An emotion which LaRouche clearly felt aimed directly at her from thousands of miles away.

"There are two Doctors Mercier," LaRouche said, chagrin and apology spreading across her face. "Doctor Eriq Mercier … and his daughter, Doctor Isabelle Mercier, who is also a scientist in the same field of study as her father. Both were being protected by INTERPOL resources on Oahu when the raid occurred. In actuality, Eriq Mercier was killed and Isabelle has been missing ... she was abducted and we're not sure where she is. We thought Dubai, but with McCann returning to Oahu, we believe she never left the Island and is being held by an adversarial team of counter-terrorists."

"Excuse me?" Kono was baffled by the information. "I don't even know what to say ... he's not alive ... all this while ... he's been dead? And ... the daughter ... she's missing? Possibly abducted by terrorists? You seriously … _lied_? Why? Why would you do that and put us all in harms way?"

"Yes, they did lie." Chin raised an eyebrow as his mind swiftly began to cobble an interesting story together. On the screen, Agent LaRouche adopted a cold stance. One that was unreadable until he managed to identify the source of her organization's key issue.

"INTERPOL lied because it's trying to save face," he said smartly. "INTERPOL either screwed up ... or got screwed. Or both." Still deep in thought, Chin cocked his head as he stared blindly at the smooth top of the smart table virtually talking to himself. He quieted and then nodded since he was now positive that his blossoming theory was correct. "Regardless of the reason, under your watch, an esteemed doctor was killed and another was abducted. By another faction no less. So, just to be clear, Doctor Isabelle Mercier ... she's been missing for all this time?"

"Yes. And not that it helps much, we now know it was an inside job," LaRouche offered reluctantly. "As you so deftly noted - we were screwed, Lieutenant. We were infiltrated and played ... the takedown at the safe house was nothing short of a massacre. During the fight, Isabelle was abducted and is being held for ransom by a faction of militants; a faction unrelated to McCann or to his benefactor and they want her badly. She's being parlayed to the highest bidders and right now, we believe bidders predominantly represent insurgents in either Somalia or even a powerful group of radicalists based in Nigeria."

"You're losing me," Kono said. Her mind swirled because she was counting the evil in her head. One would be the original threat in the form of McCann's team, the other would be a rogue, a mole in just the right position hiding within INTERPOL, and a third would be any number of radicals at large, each desperate for an edge in global terrorism.

"This doesn't make sense," Kono mused frowning when she caught a glimpse of Chin's face. Based upon his expression, her cousin had the issue well in hand. Before she could ask, he raised his hand to interrupt her, as he tossed his assumption at LaRouche.

"In-fighting," Chin said. "McCann was hired to get her back from this faction sans the ransom and to keep her from anyone else. He's also trying to save face for whomever orchestrated this aggressive attack in the first place. Who does he represent and what else are you withholding from us?"

"Her father was used to build a biochemical agent which was released in a very small quantity on Oahu. That device failed … we believe that Mercier purposefully built a benign device. But his daughter, Doctor Isabelle Mercier, she presents a global risk to mankind," LaRouche interrupted. "Her knowledge and skills exceed genius level. If her father was brilliant, Isabelle is a mastermind. We have our own man close to McCann, but it's a relatively new arrangement and we're still struggling with who precisely owns his bank account. Our man's been under for nearly eighteen months in the McCann organization and only now does he have the proximity we've been after. But because of that, he's almost too visible and his intel is not entirely consistent."

"Nice! A chemical agent? That you also saw fit to keep from us?" Kono snarked back instantly, unable to hide her ongoing displeasure with Interpol, which was ever rising to newer heights the more LaRouche opened her mouth. In kind, her voice raised even higher as she checked off their indiscretions one by one.

"Now, let's add in a mole ... is this the same one who played you the first time or someone entirely different, LaRouche! And oh - please wait! Let's not forget, your lousy intel about Dubai!."

"We should have been more upfront," LaRouche admitted softly. "The agent close to McCann is not the same person ... not by far. Though we have been experiencing issues with his reliability; none of which is precisely in his control due to his visibility. We're hoping he checks in within the next twenty-four hours and will immediately include you in any updates. That's the best we can do, Officer Kalakaua, so right now, you and I are on the same playing field."

"Wait a minute," Chin interrupted, his eyes sharp as he leaned forward in interest. "You've had a mole inside McCann's organization for eighteen months … and only see fit to tell us now?"

"He's deep under and was only elevated rather recently to McCann's primary team," LaRouche quietly explained. "But he's so deep, that we've lost control of him. He's unreliable … we're worried that his own sense of mission has become a bit … compromised. But yes, we do have an INTERPOL agent close to McCann."

"When's the last time he contacted you?" Kono demanded.

"Yesterday," LaRouche confirmed. "He's only contacted us twice since arriving on Oahu. Once to validate arrival and then ... to provide initial intel regarding Mercier. But this is all I can tell you for the moment. You have my word that any new intel will be shared once it becomes available. There's no schedule; no rhyme or reason. Being so close, his ability to contact us is quite limited. I beg that you understand the circumstances under which we're all operating."

"Why should we believe you?" Kono dared ask. "What about Detective Williams then? If he's so close to McCann, has this agent seen him? Does he know if he's all right?"

LaRouche never even paused in her reply. The words curt and almost cold. "No, our man never mentioned your detective."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Steve replayed the conversation with Kono again in his head; the questions surrounding INTERPOL's ignorance or willful deceit having replaced the disturbing visions of McCann that had plagued him like a broken record since he emerged from his drug-induced slumber.

"Bull shit," Steve muttered angrily under his breath. He lay in his hospital bed as his rage and worry began to peak to simultaneous new highs. Though he likely couldn't do much more outside the confines of the hospital's walls, being trapped as he was, was slowly killing him inch by terrible inch. He was hurt and sick, yet clock watching and forcing himself to remain awake so he'd not miss a call or visit from HPD, Chin or Kono. He closed his eyes, their burn almost as insurmountable as the pain in his gut since he was intentionally accepting minimal doses of pain killer despite his doctor's perturbed advice.

In the dark behind his eyes, he bounced between what Danny had confessed so many weeks ago about Spenser McCann's penultimate promises and what McCann had told him just before he'd been shot inside his own house. The mercenary had gloated about his return for the second half of his illicit mission; something now which INTERPOL seemed loathe to divulge more on. Then, the man's sick obsession over his partner which had continued to prey on Danny's psyche nearly every day. To offset some of that, Five-0's mitigation was to be in constant contact with Agent LaRouche from INTERPOL. The woman had been kind, forthright and every part the professional to provide their most current intel regarding McCann's whereabouts.

Dubai. So far away. So incredibly wrong though.

INTERPOL hadn't known the truth. So they said. But they'd also lied about so many other things.

"God dammit," Steve sighed wearily under his breath. "We should have known. We should have been better prepared." Danny had been traumatized by barely surviving a single day with the sociopathic leader and now so much more time had slowly begun to pass. The older man may have gotten under Danny's skin, but the converse was also amazingly true. McCann was laser-focused on getting what he'd wanted from the moment he'd been so enthralled with his friend. And now … now … he'd achieved his terrible first step with such skill, Steve's own head was left reeling.

With nothing to do but send his blood pressure skyrocketing, Steve scowled darkly as his mind began to dwell on McCann's ambush. He cursed INTERPOL for the obvious withholding of information. They knew more - _they knew so much more about Danny_. More worried about trying to salvage their reputation and mission, they were being entirely too silent about what they knew about Danny. Steve could appreciate the sanctity of a mission; but he more appreciated bringing every man home - _alive_.

Steve's legs twitched for action under the sheets a second before he was once again whipping them aside. He couldn't stay where he was. He had to leave.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	16. Chapter 16

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny didn't move when he felt Leon standing behind him. After all, this one person had never held a true threat against him. He blinked slowly, trying to bring the man's reflection to rights in the glass. But after having been entranced by the downtown panorama at night, it was difficult for him to refocus, so he gave it up. He did begin to react though when he felt the back of his shirt being pushed away, followed by the unwelcome touch of calloused fingers which roughly groped along his backbone.

"Leon!" He inhaled sharply, causing his breath to wheeze, his reactions too slow to prevent the man from pushing him forward hard enough for his forehead to connect with the glass. His breath fogged the window and he cringed into it, his shock too great to manage doing more except breathe. The only working part of his brain was stunned by his guardian's apparent betrayal as he was held in place, his back now exposed.

"Leon," Danny whispered in dismay. " _Pleasepleaseplease_ ..." He closed his eyes as the endless plea circulated on a soft susurrus of sound, one sweaty palm flat against the cold pane leaving a splayed hand-print as he tried to think of what to do. He hadn't seen this coming though; he'd never guessed that he couldn't at least trust this one person inside the terrible mess where he'd found himself stuck. "Leon … don't."

"Hold still you idiot," Leon demanded as he bent down trying to find the thin edge of the transparent drug patch. "It's not what you think. I need to get this off you." His voice was gruff, rushed even. His tone should have been a clue, but Danny could only think of one thing and he shook his head in fear, his weak struggle continuing as he was kept flush against the glass.

"Don't … Leon, don't … ," Danny faintly begged the big man, unable to unfold his legs to even try and defend himself before he felt a determined tug against his skin. Eyes wedged shut and panting hard, he couldn't move a single muscle when he felt the quick rip. The spot on his back which itched and burned so very much earlier, flared anew and he gasped while he reflexively reached behind towards the area to ease the stinging pain with his own fingers. However, Leon was slapping his hand away while tugging his t-shirt back down.

"There," Leon smirked almost triumphantly as he held the drug patch inside a piece of tissue. "Now, don't touch your back. It's inflamed." He looked down at his frightened charge until he received a quick nod, his lopsided smile communicating something which Danny clearly didn't understand.

"What... did you just do? What is that?" Danny asked, unsure if he should be relieved or not by what Leon was showing him because he couldn't figure out what it was. One hand was now melded to his back despite what he'd been told, pressing hard near the irritated spot, yet not quite able to reach it. He rubbed weakly at it anyway, wincing as his shirt caught on roughened skin.

"A gift from Spenser. A drug patch ... to keep you ... calm," Leon remarked carefully as he decided his next steps. He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling before slapping Danny's fingers again; he could see himself doing that for hours to come. "What did I just say? Leave it alone! And, the less that you know, the better."

The drugs were strong and the detective wouldn't remember what he said anyway. But if the younger man did happen to inadvertently repeat something to implicate himself, Leon didn't want to take the chance. "Stay there and don't move a single muscle," he added warningly just before he strode quickly from the room. A moment later, Danny heard the bathroom toilet flushing and he blinked in confusion as a mug of hot coffee was thrust into his hands. His brow furrowed even more deeply when he realized where he was. Because now he was seated on the couch, a warm blanket draped over his shoulders and he hadn't a clue as to how that had happened.

"What are you doing?" Danny asked. His short term memory was already blurring as he gazed quizzically towards the large window before looking up at Leon in askance. He'd been sitting there and something had happened, but for the life of him, it was fading fast. "What's going on?"

"Drink this and shut up," the bodyguard commanded. "Lord knows if coffee's even going to be enough though with the shape you're in."

He chuffed a disgusted sound under his breath to validate his earlier stance as the detective struggled to focus on his face. As he'd learned, the drugs would continually wreak havoc on memory and thought processes for at least four more hours. There could be slip ups and mistakes, but it was still a decent amount of time for the only opportunity he'd been granted to do something more constructive.

"Drink the coffee. It's extra sweet and it's hot, so be careful. I don't need you to burn yourself," Leon coached. "Drink … it's only coffee." His hand lifted the mug to Danny's lips, supporting the trembling fingers and insistent that he at least take one sip before he briefly attempted to explain particular key details. "The boss is acting on phase one tonight and the team won't be back for a minimum of five hours – maybe six. You have less than that to get your dammed act together."

"Why?" Danny asked.

"Why he says," Leon rudely repeated, another dramatic roll of his eyes aimed towards the heavens. "Listen … I can't have you escape on my watch. But I can set you up to at least have a chance to protect yourself – maybe, if you're lucky, even get out of here. You wanted that, right? A chance? So take what I'm giving you and try to work with it. This is the best I can do or else I ruin months of work … or risk even getting killed in the process."

Danny didn't know what to say at that point. His brain was much too muddied and the current goings on entirely perplexing. He obediently sipped the coffee though when Leon tilted his hands upwards with a gentle encouragement. He hummed deeply in his throat at the black sweetness which flooded his mouth, his eyes closing in appreciation. The only word dancing behind his closed lids and sticking in his head was ' _chance_ ' and that didn't take too much of his concentration.

"Leon?" Danny suddenly found himself wanting to ask a certain question. His eyes were still closed and he felt almost peaceful for the first time since he could remember. Leon's hands were supporting his own lest he drop the hot mug and he smiled at the kindness. But then that one special word teased through his head and he lost the smile.

 _Chance_. Leon was giving him a chance and he needed to pay attention. He needed to wake up.

"What?" The tone was aggrieved, almost petulant, and Danny managed a small smile.

"Just … who are you?" Danny pressed for more even when he felt his hands being raised for another deep swallow of steaming black coffee. The biggest clue of all was standing over him; suddenly more firmly on his side of a terrible abyss and he needed to know.

"I'm Leon," the big man growled out from over his head where he stood sentry. "Just plain old, boring Leon … and let's just keep it that way. Now, drink the coffee. There's more where that came from."

Danny frowned at the incomplete answer, knowing it would have to be enough. He blinked distractedly when the mug disappeared from his hands and then jolted in surprise when Leon virtually barked at him.

"For Christ's sake stop scratching at it - you want him to check it's still there?" Leon snarled the whispered warning close to his ear as he grabbed Danny's hand from where it once again wandered beneath the waistband of his sleep pants. "The sooner you start remembering stuff the better ... for both of us," he said, throwing Danny's hand back to his lap so hard the slap stung his groin.

"He found Dylan in Spain. He found him … ten years ago in a small fishing village peddling himself for anything he could get … money, clothes … a tiny bit of kindness." Leon glanced nervously over his shoulder, bending closer as he quickly finished the story. "Their relationship is … different. Spenser took Dylan in … almost as a son … at first. But then, it became sexual and Dylan believes himself to be in love; he'd do anything for McCann. Anything at all. Dylan became his submissive in every way and in return, McCann taught him everything he knew about the business. Dylan's learned a few things a little bit too well. He's elevated in the organization and is virtually untouchable."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Danny asked, confused by the general subject.

"Because there's two things which Spenser didn't have to teach him," Leon growled out. "Jealousy … and how to kill. He killed McCann's last toy in Dubai ... something you've just been relegated to being. Frankly though, Dylan isn't going to wait for permission. He hates you with a passion – he knows the team is becoming problematic – and all of that's going to be good enough. So you … _you_ need to get your damned act together!"

Leon made another sound deep in his throat. Even though they were definitely alone, he couldn't help looking over his shoulder while deciding to share one final thing. "I can't get you out of here and I can't let you go. The risks are too large to explain, so you're on your own here," Leon hissed quietly. He glared down at Danny effectively shutting his slack-jawed mouth with a dangerous look.

"Your C.O. He's been moved out of the ICU and will likely be released tomorrow ... or even the next day. However, rumor is floating that he wants to leave today against medical advice."

"Just who the hell are you?" Danny whispered into the air as he watched Leon walk away. He celebrated the news though because the short updated meant Steve was okay ... he was fine and even well enough to be released. It meant Grace was also blessedly safe. The relief which Danny felt nearly brought a flood of tears to his eyes. He had to believe it. To keep at least a small portion of his sanity, Danny had to believe Leon's sudden most spontaneous update. Shakily rubbing his eyes, he mentally thanked the man as the sounds from the television echoed loudly now in the main living space. Their conversation was over and Danny had to get his act together as another sweetened mug of coffee found its way into his clenched fists. Willingly taking a deep swallow, and grimacing at the heat, Danny was determined to make the very most of this unlikely opportunity.

But with Steve out there, Danny could cope better and trust that his friend had everything well in hand, whether he was found ... or not. Anything else which he needed to do, he would have to attempt on his own. Because at least now, Leon had provided him with a _chance_.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	17. Chapter 17

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Doctor Isabelle Mercier wasn't an overly emotional person. In fact, she really wasn't emotional at all. Her coolness was partially derived from a high intellect and a disdain for anyone - and anything- except a firm dedication to her life's work. However, that work was now being twisted to meet an entirely unethical purpose.

Isabelle finger-combed her filthy black hair only to roughly shove it behind her ears in anger. She'd lost her mother's barrette somewhere along the way. Her one lone treasured belonging now lost, which was beginning to add to an unfamiliar rise in anxiety.

The handmade French barrette was one of a kind work of art bequeathed to her upon her mother's unfortunate death. The nearly four inch long piece consisted of two perfect pearls joined by twinned golden swirls and studded with Swarovski crystals. Since receiving this astonishing gift, there hadn't been a single day where she'd not worn it in her mother's remembrance. For reasons which she'd be hard pressed to verbalize, this newest loss nearly trumped that of seeing her father murdered directly in front of her eyes only weeks earlier.

The doctor remained silent as this new phalanx of armed men ranged around her. Tense and on guard, she eyed them distrustfully, her hands tightly fisted.

"Who are you?" She dared ask no one in particular. She sensed that the leader had not yet arrived; though he might be due based upon their general stern demeanor and penchant for absolute silence.

She'd lost count of how many times she'd been moved, this current location a much improved experience over her last. At least, if she were meant to actually be kept where she currently found herself. The dank, dark windowless closet in the lower depths of the dry-docked freighter had been more a tomb. It was where she thought that she might have accidentally left her beloved barrette.

For a sentimental moment, Isabelle toyed with asking permission to retrieve it. But she changed her mind almost immediately. It wouldn't be worth the effort to even ask. She didn't respond verbally when one of the men pointed towards an old wooden chair. Placed in the corner, she would be able to see the entire room. However, any one of them would also be able to mind her.

Ignoring the two dead men which littered the floor of the salon, Isabelle took a bold step over their bodies. Without a word, she took the proffered chair and simply waited.

Prior to this current team's arrival, she'd been positive of her pending demise despite her apparent intellectual worth. She'd been below decks for days with an old musty mattress, battery powered camping lantern and a jug of water. Her occasional nameless visitor had merely brought a fresh gallon of water and pre-packaged protein bars. No words were exchanged nor were there any demands. Then, with no warning, she'd been moved. And not just moved, but also evidently acquired by an entirely new faction. She was possibly even more frightened than previously and working to reconcile this feeling within her anger. Though she wasn't in much better straits than before, familiarity with her original captors had bred a certain type of complacency. But she didn't recognize these men and didn't know their habits.

She was still inside the freighter, but now on the main deck and perhaps even under what would have been the captain's bridge. This new room was decidedly larger and more airy with two blessedly opened windows. The energy around her was charged, too, and she knew that she was still the coveted prize. She was still being used as the lynch pin in an abhorrent scheme where she'd be sold or bartered for some illicit purposes. Wherever she might wind up, she'd be forced to continue her work where she'd be responsible for untold deaths versus the true goals of her life-long quest. Or, if she ultimately refused, she'd be killed outright.

It was dark outside and Isa shivered as the night breeze filtered in through the largest porthole. She watched dispassionately as the two bodies were dragged away and disposed of elsewhere. After, the team almost comfortably ranged around her, but she could tell that they were all on high alert. Tense. Expectant. Waiting for someone to arrive. Someone like their leader.

Isabelle opened her mouth to inquire again and then closed it with an audible snap. There was no reason to question the obvious and she doubted anyone's willingness to reply. Instead, she pursed her lips quizzically as a portable stove was lit, and an old, battered stainless steel coffee pot was soon set to perking. Oddly, the first cup was offered to her and she took it with scarcely a hesitation. Pleased by the rare generosity, yet confused and wary she sipped carefully, watching over the lip of the small cup for any signs of change.

"He's here," someone murmured softly. "Walker too."

Isabelle looked up sharply as the men suddenly moved aside. Without a doubt, their leader had arrived. Older and polished, his sea of men parted as if he were sacrosanct. In his wake followed a lankier, younger version of himself. A younger version of the same whom Isa immediately sensed held an even stronger feeling of self-importance ... and blatant evil.

Her fingers almost trembled as she put the mug down on the floor before she rose to her feet. Tall herself, she only barely reached the older man's shoulder and she was immediately intimidated. Another personal rarity.

"Welcome," he breathed out. An imposing handsome man with sharp intelligent eyes that spoke of a mind almost as keen as her own held her gaze with a dangerous intensity. She barely managed to hold her ground though as he gently cupped her chin in his large palm as if measuring her continued value. With a start, she realized his younger lieutenant was mirroring his arrogant demeanor.

"Who are you?" Isabelle repeated as calmly as she could. She already knew what they wanted; they all wanted the same thing: her mind. But she felt it her due to know at least who now might be controlling her fate. Barely managing to hold her ground with some sense of confident nonchalance, she jerked her chin away from his grip and then immediately bristled as he smiled in amusement at her actions. It was as if he knew that her very skin was already crawling in revulsion.

"Spenser McCann," he replied smoothly. "My second, Dylan Walker. My team and I are at your service, Doctor Mercier, at least for these next few days. I'll do my very best to make your stay more bearable than your former experience has been. Though I daresay, the end result will not be much different. At the end of every day, it's only the money which matters."

He leaned in closer and Isa feared that he might actually attempt to kiss her. Instead, he pushed her hair to the side and whispered in her ear. What he said to her was very quietly shared, almost as a propitious secret of sorts. The words made no sense at all to her. Yet his eager happiness was easy enough to read.

"Welcome again, Doctor. Your early arrival has provided me with reason to celebrate … with someone ... special. So incredibly ... special."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Leon sighed heavily as he dragged his hand over his face. He felt like he'd literally pumped a gallon of coffee into the detective, but for his efforts, he'd barely managed to make a dent. One forced walk through the penthouse, one hot shower later - which he'd intentionally switched to a blast of cold - and still, the younger man was barely functioning.

"Tired," Danny mumbled thickly, his eyes more clear but the lids insistent about sliding shut. "Five minutes." Sitting on the edge of the bed, he just wanted a few minutes to lie down to rest. His head was heavy on his neck and his limbs beginning to tremble in earnest. He felt the urgency of his situation and could imagine the clock ticking closer to when danger would return to the penthouse, but Danny could scarcely find the energy to flex a single finger. "Five minutes, Leon."

The big man checked his watch for the hundredth time, a deep growl emanating from his throat on a worried exhale. He shook his head as the detective fell in upon himself before he could reply or insist that the decision was unwise.

"Five minutes then," Leon grudgingly agreed though Danny had already stretched out across the bed, his head pillowed on one arm. Eyes closed, he was asleep within seconds.

Leon inwardly winced, an unfamiliar sense of worry forced him to make a decision. An intuition tugged at him and he decided that he needed to check in again; earlier than he'd anticipated but entirely necessary. With the detective soundly sleeping and the rest of the team still attending to their mission, he quickly left the suite for the parking garage.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	18. Chapter 18

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Steve levered himself carefully higher in the bed. He grimaced in pain as he pulled heavily on his surgical site despite every prudent move. Now that he was out of the ICU, he couldn't remain where he was; not with Danny missing and INTERPOL lax in both providing crucial details and sending qualified resources. He was done. Completely and utterly done.

"You need to stay another day or two, boss," Kono admonished him, her face tired and dour looking for the ongoing stress. "You're going to wind up right back upstairs in intensive care."

"Like hell I do or will," Steve quoted angrily, a firm set to his jaw as he jockeyed his legs over the side of the bed to sit there, leaning heavily against the mattress. There was only one thing he'd allow, and that was for him to leave the hospital. Hours had become days and he was officially done with waiting like a trapped rat as his team and HPD received the run-around.

"Steve." Kono's cautionary tone held no authority. "Wait at least one more day. Please."

Her expression did little to dissuade the man from swinging his legs off the bed. Her words did even less. Her eyes communicated so much more despite the stern attitude she tried to adopt when he gasped in pain, his complexion morphing from an alarming shade of paper-white to a worsening grayish-ash color. Kono opened her mouth, angry and upset, only to slam it closed when he glared her way. Her fingers tapped repeatedly on her leg as she swayed in place, torn between starting an argument and doing as he wanted. In the end, Kono merely wound up shaking her head at the futility of even trying to make her boss get back into bed as he fumbled with his hospital gown, a tie loosening quickly on one shoulder, followed by another.

She groaned under her breath as he paused, one hand anchored to the thin material by his left bicep. Only the fingers of that hand were keeping it in place and his message was crystal clear. Not only was he daring her to speak, he was clearly challenging her willingness to stay as he stripped down to change into his clothes. Steve lifted his eyebrow just as he committed to pulling the gown off and Kono clenched her jaw in frustration.

"Fine!" Kono muttered, turning just as the gown fell to the linoleum. " _Fine_ , I'll get my car and park out front. I'll meet you there ... and for God's sake put clean clothes on. If I have to have your belligerent ass in my car the least you can do is not stink!" With that frustrated warning she threw a small duffel at her boss' feet, yanked the privacy curtain closed with one hand and stalked from the room.

She left then, her circumspect glance towards Steve's physician reading the tension in the elder professional as he bypassed her exit. She felt sorry for the man because he didn't stand a chance. Steve had lasted a bit more than three short days in the hospital. Hardly three, if you counted the few hours of day one when he was rushed into surgery. And his doctor most certainly didn't think that initial day even remotely relevant. In reality, Steve was barely on his feet and yet stubbornly insistent about leaving against medical advice. Anything which the doctor might say now would prove to be a wasted breath.

"Even just another twenty-four hours would do you a world of good, Commander," the doctor duly noted as he parted one side of the privacy curtain. His arms were crossed firmly over his chest, his stance wide and immobile as he watched his patient prop himself carefully against the bed for balance.

"Thanks, Doc," Steve replied evenly. He was done discussing the intelligence of his decision because there simply wasn't anything smart about it. It was stupid. Risky. If Danny were present, he'd have Steve's head on a platter. But Danny wasn't ... and so ...Steve muttered under his breath in frustration as his body quivered from an early strain.

"I understand and appreciate your opinion. But I need to do this." Steve's tone was quiet not only due to the pain he was in, but also because his brain was racing a mile a minute. There was a veritable army out looking, but Danny needed him and Steve needed to be on his feet, active in the search. He was virtually ignoring his doctor and earning himself more of the man's ire for his dismissive behavior. Lost in thought about what his next move would be with or without INTERPOL, he winced as he tugged a clean t-shirt over his head, pulling on stitches and having his fingers accidentally connect with the thick bandage around his middle.

"I really can't condone your decision," the doctor continued. "You'd be at a great deal less risk and I can guarantee, even more help to your team if you'd just listen to what I'm advising. Another twenty-four hours of bedrest would definitely put you in a better condition to manage." He seemed determined to make his point. For all of that good intent though, he was only managing to make his patient ever more determined to leave.

The recitation of days and hours only spurred Steve to action for Danny's sake, certainly not for his own. Time. Too much time had already lapsed at a snail's pace with zero leads and a sincere lack of urgency from the key agency involved. He knew without a doubt that another twenty-four hours would spell disaster for his friend. Even though highly qualified people were looking for Danny, it wasn't nearly enough to suit his tastes.

Steve needed to be on the street. Actively searching and calling the shots. Using threat or any means necessary, he was the one to demand action from INTERPOL.

Without apology, he struggled to his feet, a small smile playing at his lips as he pulled a pair of sweat pants from the duffel where his usual cargos would once have been - a considerate gesture of change by his young teammate who clearly anticipated his petulance and knew him too well. Steve hooked the cord of the patient property bag from the dresser and opened it to retrieve his wallet from his shredded cargo pants - no doubt removed in haste with the aid of trauma shears on his arrival. They were ruined, as was his stained and bloodied shirt; the stench was in his nose and it brought with it reminders of Spenser McCann, and his volume of threats. More impetus for him to stick to his decision with a stringent intensity.

"Thanks," Steve said, his mouth twitching into a fake smile as shoved the curtain completely open. He at least deigned to use the wheelchair brought up for him by an aide. As he was piloted past the perturbed physician, he caught the man's eye and nodded once, hoping he at least looked mostly sincere. "Really. Thanks, Doc. For everything."

With those last sentiments, he was gone and the doctor quickly forgotten.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Sir, if you don't mind me saying something," Leon hesitated, pulling a face as he watched his boss stroll towards the penthouse's large master bedroom. He followed slowly, his tone low while he voiced his many concerns over the current delicate situation. He'd just returned to the suite when the ominous sound of the elevator hummed to life. A moment later, Leon was stunned to have McCann happily whistle in though the front door. The leader had returned much earlier than anticipated and with the most startling of updates. _Alone_.

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea. There's not much time … and this could take … too long. I mean … you'd wanted to wait until after our mission. Then there's Walker to consider."

" _Hmmm_ ," Spense hummed softly, partly distracted. He'd poured himself a finger of brandy which he sipped in anticipation as he strolled down the long hallway. "Yes, I know. Too true."

Leon was, of course, quite right. But he needed a balm and his Danno was going to provide that respite. Having Isabelle Mercier under his thumb with an unexpected ease was another reason; having the good Doctor was indeed a _reason_ to celebrate earlier. Everything was happening much more quickly in fact. Doors were opening with ease to give credence ... no, a certain validation ... for other desires. Other needs.

"Smitty's probably downstairs already waiting for you. And if you're late, the men will wonder," Leon breathed out worriedly.  "You've only a few hours before the summit and, Sir, to be honest, your credibility is being stretched over this … distraction. Why take such a risk now? They need you there. You need to stay visible."

The distraction in question was, of course, his Danno and this time Spense stopped mid-step. He hadn't been entirely blind to what his actions had been causing within his team; he'd only been stubbornly ignoring those facts.

"Yes, I know," McCann murmured petulantly. "But we've Mercier _days_ in advance ... it requires ... a celebration. Dylan is securing the location on the Fatima for this evening and is well-occupied. As for Smitty ... I've given him a certain task to do; he's not waiting for me, Leon. Not yet."

He paused, silent as he considered what McCann had just said and what it actually implied. McCann had planned this move rather well even within its short time span. He truly intended to go all the way without apology. Without any shred of remorse. Grasping at straws, Leon noisily cleared his throat, gestured towards the master bedroom and tried a different method to alter McCann's tack.

"All right, but I also need time to get _him_ safely to the airstrip. This delay will cut things close for me. I'd rather not be caught on the streets with him once the clock starts. I also need to take advantage of the time element and stay the course, Sir." Leon had suddenly been tasked with minding McCann's pet which entailed spiriting Danny days earlier than anticipated to his private jet on the airstrip. He'd need to do this alone and without back-up. Evidently though, this additional move was now a bit of subterfuge to keep the younger man alive and away from the jealous second in command.

"You'll have ample time," Spense murmured softly. "I've considered that as well."

Leon glowered unhappily at the succinct reply. Plans layered upon plans and lies piled upon lies with himself once more the unfortunate messenger. What McCann had flung together didn't bode well for any of them - including himself - and he began to sweat. According to his boss, the entire team would convene at the airstrip once the mission was accomplished and be gone before the authorities knew what hit them. Still since things were changing so quickly, Leon's current advice was sound and his worry above board.

"Sir, you seriously shouldn't be here right now," he pressed on as he studiously worked at remaining blandly factual. "It's much too risky … you can undermine the opportunities you've managed to gain, and for what?"

Leon didn't dare say more for fear that he'd already begun to risk too much. He was bravely straddling too close of a very personal line with all he'd stated thus far. Yet, he doggedly stayed on the man's heels and hoped he'd made a significant dent in his amorous intentions.

"Sir? What about Walker? If he finds out ... is all of that going to be worth such a large gamble, too?" There was finally a glimmer of doubt on Spense's face which obviously was warring very strongly with his desires. The mercenary paused in the doorway to the bedroom, silent, a dark thoughtful scowl lasted only a few seconds though. His lips twitched just before a fond, pleased smile quirked one side of his mouth upwards.

Danny was laying on his stomach. The t-shirt had ridden up high, the bare skin of his lower back enticing along with an arm innocently outstretched in sleep. The hand attached to that same arm lay palm up. Danny's fingers were facing him as if beckoning, and it was all too much for Spenser to decline. He would make sure that he had time and he'd not lose any of his men's well-placed trust. There would be no risk to the summit.

"I won't be long … no more than an hour … wait in the garage for Smitty. One hour Leon, and then come back up here to retrieve him," Spenser said quietly. "And Leon, while I do value your … _advice_ , not a word of this to Dylan or I'll kill you myself. If he even suspects something has happened here ... I'll kill you anyway."

"No, Sir." Leon heaved in a deep breath of air, his nostrils flaring in unease. He opened his mouth to say more but Spenser was already on the bed, trapping the sleeping detective's hips between his knees. Leon fled before he could see his boss begin to gently knead the man's shoulders, but not before he heard Danny's slurred, startled cry of confusion.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are adding our thoughts and prayers to everyone's for our friends living this horror in Paris.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Chin watched Steve as he sat hunched over, balanced precipitously on the edge of an uncomfortable office chair inside the command center. His cousin stood sentry behind the seated man, her hands intentionally bracing the chair's back to avoid an accidental swivel. Kono was furious with Steve - as was he - but neither of them could or would argue his decision. Instead, they adopted their own method of offering support in any way that they might.

Based upon the rigid tension of his shoulders, Steve was in pain and already exhausted. He should be at his own home - hell, he should still be laying in a hospital bed ... and he should _definitely_ be taking decent analgesia. Worst case, he was supposed to be at Kono's reviewing their lack of intel at least from the comfort of her couch, but the man was stubborn to a fault and so they humoured his decision ... for now. Sidelining him at this juncture wouldn't bode well for anyone and at least this way Chin had eyes on him at all times.

In a fury over INTERPOL's inability or refusal to help, Steve had insisted that they all convene here instead at the command center, where at least both HPD and SWAT resources could be jointly managed.

"Get LaRouche on the line," Steve demanded. His voice was grainy and thin, but the determined set to his jaw proved his anger. "We've waited long enough and I want more. I don't believe that this mole has only contacted them one time since hitting Oahu; it doesn't make sense … I don't trust them anymore."

Kono only moved from his side at the request to initiate the call. When she nodded, Steve carefully leaned forward as the connection was confirmed and the SKYPE session began. "LaRouche," Steve acknowledged the agent coldly. "What the hell is going on?" Even though she recovered quickly, LaRouche was definitely surprised to see him based upon her expression and he took advantage of her reaction.

"You knew McCann was here and not in Dubai," Steve bluntly stated. "Not only did you know he was here, you knew that he'd come back because you lied about Doctor Mercier. You lied about having valid intel and never were transparent about having an agent involved; someone incredibly close to McCann. In fact, you've lied about nearly everything. I don't believe you that your - _contact_ \- has only called once in all of this time."

 _"Commander, we honestly didn't know he'd left Dubai,"_ the agent insisted, her frustration evident on her face. _"Our man simply can't be expected to be reliable … he's been deep under for over 18 months now. He's made his way literally into McCann's inner sanctum. We can't risk that relationship, nor be expected to think he will risk himself more than he is right now. It's taken months for him to get this far! You of all people can appreciate that."_

"He's called - recently?" Steve pressed on as he grudgingly admitted to himself the validity of her stance. INTERPOL would never be able to get their man out safely or protect Danny; but this was a bit of good news. He glanced towards Chin, their eyes communicating one clear thing: the information might have been withheld from them, but at least there could be a friendly face on the inside. Someone that could offer a modicum of protection besides more critical information for all of them. "I know he's called again LaRouche. When did he call and what did he say … exactly what did he say when he reported in? Does he know where Danny is? When's his next check in? You owe us."

 _"He doesn't have a scheduled check in. I thought that was clear … he does his best, but timely relays are impossible. It's why we didn't even know McCann's team had left Dubai, never mind knowing that he'd arrived on Oahu and already taken your detective!"_ The agent reiterated her stance as she inhaled sharply, her lips twitching in aggravation. _"He has called recently and though you likely won't believe me, I was about to reach out to your team with this new information. In short, he first inquired about your status in hospital; typical enough if he's tasked with spoon-feeding McCann some bits of intel."_

Steve shrugged, though mentally he considered why the mercenary would care about his health if he had his partner. Something more to hold over Danny's head to get what he wanted? Threats? A promise of continued retribution or an attack in the hospital should he still be alive? Regardless of those possibilities, he shook his head as he waved a hand through the air for her to continue. McCann now knew that he was alive and even had left the hospital AMA. Of more importance, Grace was safe and completely untouchable. The information was irrelevant at best for the bigger story, yet he made a face about what McCann might choose to manipulate in order to keep Danny in line.

"Damn it," Steve muttered softly because Danny would believe or at least doubt whatever he was told in turn. It would be more than enough regardless of the truth. But for now, Steve needed to act and he needed to ensure that he and his team were entirely up-to-date on everything INTERPOL knew – timely or not. He wanted facts about INTERPOL's man and if he truly could be of more use. "What else? If he's so damned close, does he have eyes on Danny?"

 _"Yes. He confirmed that McCann has Detective Williams and he's able to keep tabs on him,"_ she said bluntly, her eyes now darkening in warning when Steve stumbled to his feet. The chair in the small space clattered backwards into the wall as it nearly toppled over.

"When the hell were you going to tell us that!? What has that bastard done to Danny?" Steve growled out as he literally rounded on the screen so quickly, the agent thousands of miles away backed up in reaction. "What did he do, LaRouche?"

 _"I don't know!"_ She wheezed, knowing the Five-0 teams' valid fears. And she didn't know; Leon hadn't said a single word in that regard. He'd only confirmed Williams' status and that he'd been tasked as unlikely and quite reluctant bodyguard of sorts. He had a suspicion that the mission was suddenly aggressively moving forward. He wanted agents on call and his back-out plan at the ready to be deployed should he need to be pulled out. The final bit of relayed information pertained directly to the female Doctor Mercier. A fact which LaRouche was determined to keep silent. _"He didn't share that or anything about their current location. I could never tell you that even if I knew!"_

The Five-0 Commander's own fury was tangible even over their SKYPE session, including the unspoken demand for a location, and she narrowed her eyes. They stared at each other long and hard, emotions high as they each sought to protect valuable members of their teams, as well as the health of a larger mission. _"Even if I knew – which I don't - I couldn't tell you where he is. So for now, you need to be assured that he's alive and they're still on Oahu. McCann's reaching a critical point in his mission so we need to let this play out. We need to get Mercier back ... alive ... without a future threat of a chemical agent being developed."_

"Not good enough! Why aren't you here?" Steve shouted. He winced, barely able to prevent the reactive protective bend his body tried to adopt as his outburst strained his abdomen. "You just said that your man isn't reliable! How long are we supposed to let this play out? Anything could happen … anything could have happened already!"

 _"You think that we don't know that?"_ She replied as evenly as possible. _"But this is the best we can do; it's the closest we've gotten inside that organization in almost two years. Our man will not risk sharing more right now. I can only tell you that he's close to McCann and even to Detective Williams. They're on Oahu and the mission is reaching a new fervor. But, we need to bring that entire conglomerate down and we won't risk any opportunity to do it."_

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Leon slammed the key into the penthouse's private elevator panel. When he entered and the doors slid shut, he cursed loudly all the way down to the lower level. He'd tried his damnedest and nothing had worked. McCann's arrival was too soon. McCann had simply returned hours too early for the drugs to have worn off enough for anything to make a tangible difference. The blonde detective would have to care for himself in order for Leon to remain under his guise for the greater good.

Nonetheless, he was upset and undeniably worried about the real impact of McCann's personal change in plans. If Leon even disregarded what was happening upstairs, the fact that McCann would be late to represent his own men at the summit was an enormous faux pas. Any such tardiness indicated a severe weakness and it set the stage for failure. It put the entire mission in jeopardy on a multitude of levels, including the potential for INTERPOL to retrieve the missing scientist – alive. Or worse yet, before she changed hands again for the final time.

Out of frustration, he paced the small expanse of garage nearest the elevator, constantly checking not only his watch, but also his surroundings. Ten minutes became fifteen at an excruciatingly slow pace and Leon began to sweat. There was no sign of Smitty. Hell, there wasn't a sign of anyone. The place was empty and devoid of sound except for the occasional vehicle coming and going within the hotel's underground parking. All these sounds were normal and distant, quickly discounted by the large man as extraneous and unrelated to his current state of affairs. Even though the area was essentially deserted, cautionary habits weighed heavily in the back of his mind and he walked over to a far corner where he wouldn't be seen by any prying eyes. However, the vantage provided him with a full view of the entry ramp and of anyone who might be trying to access the private lift.

Scarcely five minutes later, a large SUV was pulling into the private realm of the parking garage and he was tucking himself even further back into the recess. "God dammit!" Leon ground out between clenched teeth. "What the hell is he doing here?" This wasn't supposed to be happening. Not this on top of everything else … not now … and he simply didn't know what to do.

Rarely was he this at a loss as he watched sole occupant park in one of the two private penthouse spots. It wasn't Smitty in the driver's seat. It was Dylan Walker.

He had seconds to spare and Leon's mind swirled through a number of chaotic solutions, none of which made sense – including his simple act of just walking away from the entire abhorrent mess which this undercover operation had become. Unable to complete any of his thoughts, he reflexively yanked his cell phone out for the second time that day and hit speed-dial without even looking. His message was succinct and swift, and he hit the end key mere seconds after simply giving the address to the posh hotel and its fine penthouse. With that one act, he'd essentially pulled the plug on his own covert operation to send a series of ever-increasing wheels into motion.

What his contacts would do or find upstairs in the suite remained to be seen, but Leon intuitively knew none of what would be happening within the next few minutes would bode well. For anyone, including himself. Of much larger magnitude, regardless of what happened next, the shock waves would also destroy the foundation of the mission.

"Hey! Walker! Hold up!" With a final mental curse for what would be his one last gallant effort at salvaging something of value, he then burst out from his corner with a congenial shout just as Dylan was getting to the elevator. "You're not supposed to be here. Did something happen? The boss is on the way down," Leon said casually. "I'll get him if it's urgent ... no need to run up."

"Why are you down here? Where the hell is Smitty?" Walker instantly asked without preamble. He seemed wary as he measured Leon from head to toe, his eyes communicating nothing but anger as he searched the parking garage.

"Why am I down here? Seriously?" Not needing to work on communicating his level of disgust, Leon shook his head and pointed towards their second black SUV. "The boss filled me in on what's been gained with the good doctor. He mentioned that you were working on the summit and pulling things together. He sent Smitty on some errand or another, too. But me? Evidently I'm only good enough to be a fucking babysitter. I must have pissed the boss off in some past life or something. While you lot get on with the good stuff, I've got to take our little friend's ass over to the final rendezvous point."

"Uh huh. The rendezvous. So ... soon?" Dylan drawled nastily, his eyes sliding quizzically to the remote corner where Leon had seemingly been lurking. "Maybe I'll just go get Spense, myself. Surprise him a bit the way he's surprising me right now? What do you say, Leon?" Uncertain and completely unenthused by even the sheer reference to McCann's pet project, the sneer that crossed over his lips proved his disdain and confirmed his disbelief.

"It's not a problem for me to get him," Leon replied. He tried to remain confident, yet he found himself beginning to fumble over his tongue nervously. "He's ready to come down ... he's just waiting on me to get back up there. He's expecting Smitty to come back any minute, too. He ... _ah ... he's ..._ "

"He's playing with him isn't he?" Dylan snarled softly, intentionally interrupting the bodyguard. He was jealous and barely listening to Leon's words. "He can't seem to keep his hands off that little son of a bitch."

"If he's doing anything, Sir," Leon replied as calmly as he could. "He's only hitting him up again with drugs so I can manage his ass for the next few hours. You know how he likes to do that." His statement was true enough, but Leon's nerves were rising exponentially as he waited for Dylan to decide just how annoyed he might be. It took all of his self-control to not offer a reaction to the dangerous seconds' next comments.

"Oh, I _do_ know," Dylan growled angrily as he pushed past Leon towards the private elevator. "I know all too well."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	20. Chapter 20

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Spenser grinned down at Danny when the younger man cried out reflexively to an unexpected disturbance; he grinned a Cheshire cat smile filled with a sheer possessiveness. He didn't feel like waiting any longer. Mission be damned and his promise to Dylan - completely out the window. He'd sent his significant other on a job of sorts before they were all due to meet at their designated posts to complete their work on Oahu. Technically, Dylan's task would be short-term in nature and Spense only had the hour which he'd quoted to Leon. He then was trusting that his big lone bodyguard would keep Smitty preoccupied for just the time he needed for this special diversion.

Of most concern, his beloved second could very well arrive at their ad hoc headquarters before he, and that might prove problematic. It would support Leon's warning about his waning credibility with his men. But now, Spenser was sure that he had time. Quite enough time alone. With Danny.

Dylan had barely left their primary field site when Spenser had made his decision, returning spontaneously to the penthouse and subsequently ignoring Leon's wise advice. Upon entering the bedroom, he took one long swallow of brandy; inhaling its fine aroma appreciatively before placing the glass on the side table and moving to the foot of the bed. He idly ran his fingers over the bedpost and smiled anew as he gazed at the prone man.

A moment later, he'd moved onto the bed, shifting on his knees as he straddled Danny's hips, waking the younger man more as he forced him onto his back. His fingers played teasingly over Danny's naked skin where it peeked out from beneath the t-shirt, then pushed the fabric up higher, running abstract circles over his chest and then lower over his ribs and belly. Spense grinned as he easily evaded Danny's trembling fingers to drag his own over the broad chest in a long, light caress. Under his seat, Spense felt the muddled confusion of thrill and pleasure.

"Ah, such a nice surprise to learn about you. Ticklish, Danno?" Spenser exhaled on a pleased hush of sound as goose-bumps sprang up along Danny's arms and the man shivered even while in such a partial state of awareness. It was the kind of shiver which resonated, sending a trill through his entire body. Danny's hands fisted and he shifted lazily when Spenser feathered his arm again. There was a faint murmur – not necessarily of discontent – and he sniffed in amusement because the younger man's eyes were still closed as his brow furrowed deeply in consternation, and yet he still responded nicely. Danny wasn't yet quite aware but his body certainly had a distinct opinion on the persistent tickling sensation.

Once Danny was hazily gazing up at him, Spense rested his hands on his own thighs as he simply sat there with a gentle pressure. Below him, Danny weakly began to flounder as he roused, his knees flexing but not getting far as his lower half remained entangled in the bedding and trapped under McCann's weight.

"Hello, petal," Spense breathed in, his nostrils flaring in excitement at what was to be. "Sleep well?"

"What? No. I mean ... I'm not … not going … to let this … you ...happen," Danny stammered nearly incoherently as he guessed the man's intent. In his continued role as captive, he'd been drugged and left in a daze for the last many hours. Lost in time and space, Danny had been wearily drifting in and out of consciousness despite Leon's best efforts. But he needed much more than black coffee and cold showers. He needed more time for the worst of the drugs to leave his system. Now, he could barely focus as he woke to yet another frightening version of Spenser McCann. A version that was hanging much too closely over his body with the most disturbing of expressions.

His uncooperative vision was grayish, murky and his depth perception remained completely off. Leon had desperately tried to help him, but McCann's return was much too soon. Scarcely two hours and a fresh pot of strongly brewed coffee wasn't even close enough to combat the lasting effects of the drugs pumped into his system. He sensed that Leon wasn't there anymore either, which meant he and Spense were entirely alone. Fearfully, Danny reached upwards, his hands meeting McCann's in a sloppy flail when he tried to push the man off his body. But he'd been taken by surprise and he lacked the strength and wherewithal to do more than wind up with his fingers trapped within those of the indomitable mercenary.

"You don't have a choice in the matter because I have her. Doctor Isabelle Mercier is currently biding her time, on my terms, down on the docks. She's on my _Fatima_ and the summit has been moved up. I won, Danno. But then again, I always win, don't I? Life is all about opportunity and winning. But you know that already, don't you?" McCann murmured softly, the smile evident in the tone of his voice. "So now? Now we get to celebrate. I get to reward myself with a small taste of … you ... before the final steps of this ridiculously easy mission are put into motion."

Danny rocked his head as if in pain, scarcely able to keep up with the conversation. Of course, he'd heard of a Doctor Mercier, but not a woman. And frankly, his only immediate concern was Spenser McCann who was suddenly justifying his need to make due on his promise early. Much earlier than Danny could cope with - ever.

"Get off me," Danny moaned. "McCann … I swear … get away from me."

The whiffled snort through the mercenary's nose was highly amused as he canted his body possessively over Danny's, one hand on either side of the younger man's head. "While sharing my bed, you're to address me as Sir, Danno. Regardless of your ongoing lessons, we don't have too much time ... so frankly, what precious little we do have, it will need to be enough. At least for now."

Danny was suddenly having difficulty breathing and it wasn't entirely because of McCann's weight or the drugs used to keep him subdued. He stilled in place, his eyes widening as he stared up at McCann in utter disbelief, the older man's face blurred into a frightening mask. This unwise hesitation proved to be another issue as his fingers were crushed so that his arms could be pushed over his head, the older man's weight shifting purposefully forward. There was no childish groping or awkward fumbling, each of McCann's moves was distinctly predatory and defined with a heated purpose.

"You're … insane. Get … the hell off me," Danny ground out as his hands were shoved up and pinned to the mattress on either side of his head. "Get the fuck off! Or, so help ... me." McCann was now inches above his face, his smile lurid and leering as his breath caressed Danny's skin.

"Or, so help me what?" McCann crooned dangerously. He leaned closer to gently rub his nose against Danny's, adding a soft kiss for good measure. "You'll what, Danno? Kill me? That's an old promise you'll never be able to keep and honestly, I'm sick of hearing it. You're not to threaten me ever again or you'll pay a hefty price," McCann warned as he affectionally caressed Danny's cheek with his own, the touch making Danny's skin crawl. When he looked up, his eyes were dark, liquid in a flushed face as he whispered into Danny's ear. "I promised something to Dylan too, but I can't wait until after the mission. I want you now. I want _us_ now."

Fingers tangled through one side of Danny's hair, freeing a hand as his head was held tightly to the pillow. Trying to fight, Danny awkwardly pushed back as hard as he could, but his hand was roughly slapped away time and again. The rest of him remained uselessly pinned as feather-light kisses were laved across his forehead and his exposed neck. He fought to turn his head further away despite the way Spenser tore into his scalp, his eyes closed in pain while he willed his muscles to find what they so desperately lacked.

"Patience. Careful, my boy. Your turn is coming. I've just begun to enjoy myself, Danno," McCann hummed pleasantly into his ear. "In fact, I want to play a bit." He easily kept Danny trapped as he rode the low waves of resistance which bucked up around his thighs. The friction felt deliciously good to him, yet not entirely to his Danno based on the pained expression. At present, the type of drugs in his system wouldn't be doing him any favors in that regard; something McCann could correct in the future easily enough though. "Don't worry. We have plenty of time for you to … enjoy yourself, too. And if I can't coax you along this time round, then definitely the next."

He chuckled softly again as Danny continued to struggle yet failed to gain even a fraction of an inch. He recaptured Danny's free hand to re-pin it to the mattress and sniffed in amusement as he felt Danny's hips lurch higher in objection under his seat. The motion allowed him to grind luridly down in response and he groaned in pleasure as he rocked his hips, the warmth pooling in the pit of his belly. He'd originally wanted Danny to be on board with the plan even if that had meant breaking him in the process. But now, he was glad that he'd changed his mind.

He'd learned to covet the detective as his own because of the man's tenacity and strong-will. He'd enjoyed Danny's ongoing penchant to be so damnably contrary and pugnacious. McCann appreciated his mere existence as a tool to antagonize and awaken the jealous tendencies of his beloved second. There was no real need to tame him or for the detective to want him equally because those changes would inadvertently alter everything which he'd found so damnably ... _attractive_.

So now McCann found himself pleased - and distinctly aroused - by the fight, despite the drugs he'd used earlier that day. He smiled wolfishly as sweat beaded across flushed skin. This type of resistance would also appeal to Dylan's sexual appetite, albeit a bit differently and in allowing his beloved second a chance to _play_ ... he'd be ... forgiven.

"You're going to wear yourself out," McCann teased Danny, his knowing smile growing ever larger as his words caused the exact opposite to occur. Even with the drugs, the reaction he'd prompted was utter perfection.

"Calm down, petal." He chided Danny more, pleased when he felt the wildly desperate panting through his knees. "Where's the fun in tiring yourself out, Danno? Save yourself, dear boy. Unless you prefer it this way, too? Is that what this is? Are you such a tease, Danno?"

"Fuck … you," Danny rasped out, his eyes had turned a deeper more black azure as they flooded with tears of desperation. McCann's hazy image smudged into a whitish blur of nothing recognizable. He was indeed tiring and truly lacked the strength to move the man. He felt the mood change around him as McCann's demeanor altered dangerously and he moaned in fear as the man's lips sucked viciously along his jawline, falling down to the sensitive skin on his neck.

"Please," Danny moaned when he felt McCann rut and grind at a sickly seductive pace against his body. "Don't." It was going to happen though and there was literally nothing he could do about it.

"Please. Yes," McCann murmured as he lifted his head, pausing as if to drink in the sight of his terrified prey beneath him, feeding on the fear he saw in the muddled blue eyes which gazed up into his.

Fear, loathing, anger all mixed into one complex whole and McCann inhaled sharply. _Loving_ the sheen of sweat which had begun to build up between them though the reasons were entirely different. Danny's thin t-shirt was already soaked through to his neck. A v-shape had formed to darken the blue to nearly black to match his eyes. What he felt though was a heartbeat that was much too strong. Danny's carotid artery was pulsing wildly and McCann narrowed his eyes in consideration. He released Danny's wrists and then reared back to lounge salaciously across his hips, watching and waiting. He quirked an intrigued eyebrow skywards when he was nearly unseated as the younger man lurched to the side in a half-mad scramble to escape his attentions.

Spense allowed him to partially turn, his own hand almost helping as he roughly examined the small of Danny's back. He ignored the useless struggle for what it was, now more intent on what he found missing. A rather startling newly defined suspicion lurked in the back of his mind. Losing a drug patch during a hot shower was one thing. But this? He'd just applied a new one a few hours earlier. It was unlikely that Danny had discovered it so quickly … very, very unlikely.

"It's gone again," Spense mused softly as he rubbed his fingers over the reddened, chafed skin. "Did you find it, dear boy, or did you have help?" He chuffed an inquisitive noise, thoughts of someone having aided the detective an interesting consideration. Someone like … _Leon_ , for example. A new but trusted bodyguard that Spense suddenly realized had become quite talkative earlier. But for the life of him, Spenser couldn't readily identify a reason as to why. Still, the prospect of Leon having removed the patch wasn't entirely far-fetched. Regardless, Danny was too far removed from having a rational conversation to offer an answer. That was a given based upon his continued attempts at working his body free from under Spense's weight.

"It doesn't really matter," Spense soothed as he toyed with Danny's chest, his arm and then his back again, fingers hooked seductively under the rear of the sleep pants to lewdly gape them open before allowing them to snap back. "At least, not this very minute. But mark me well, I will find out. Eventually."

Spenser allowed the finding to warp some of his good humor. Annoyed now, he almost flung Danny back into place against the pillows. "Whatever the reason, you're much too ... feisty and while it's ... fun. I unfortunately lack the patience today. You seem to need another nudge, petal," he offered, seconds before he delivered a single back-handed slap across Danny's face. "Just a small push over the edge ... you're too stressed and I've not the time to argue."

He followed his sickly comments with another hard hit which completely took any remaining breath from Danny's lungs. Both blows combined left Danny reeling long enough for Spense to pull a pair of scissors and a syringe from their hiding places in the bedside table's shallow drawer. With the scissors by his knee, McCann checked the syringe and plunged it deeply into Danny's upper bicep with a practiced ease.

"The beauty of this special cocktail," Spense mused quietly, a sly grin morphing sickeningly into a deep laugh as he brutally thumbed the injection site. "Is that you probably won't remember much of what's happening. So our next time together will be just like our first time. All over again. The problem with it though, is that it won't really allow you to get completely in the mood either."

"Fuck," Danny groaned, his terror growing as he felt the additional drug enter his bloodstream. Almost immediately, his heart began to cease its erratic march inside his chest. With his muscles growing lax, his cause was lost as Spenser slowly leaned down to abuse his mouth, forestalling the sounds of his continued distress.

"Quite," Spenser leered. "Now, let's get rid of these ... impediments." He reared backwards to sit comfortably across Danny's thighs once more. He gazed down as a repeat of that weak struggle continued despite the sedation, Danny attempting once more to turn on his side as if to crawl away. He watched patiently as the younger man gained purchase on the mattress, his fingers desperately clenching the edge. But the attempt was feeble at best and Spenser chuckled in approval when Danny fell limply back, entirely spent, a helpless sob escaping from his chest.

"Such … tenacity … you never quit trying, do you? No matter what - you _try_. It's admirable and I truly wish you'd reconsider your allegiance. But since you refuse, this time, it's me first," Spenser noted calmly. "Then ... you if we have time and if you can manage it." Seconds later, his own shirt was quickly shed and he attacked Danny's with the small pair of scissors. He dropped his weight heavily onto Danny's hips, allowing him to feel his intentions, his fingers picking at the hem of the t-shirt at an excruciatingly slow pace in his own version of a seductive foreplay.

"Spense. I won't ... can't … do this," Danny gritted out, his voice catching in his throat though when he heard the first snip of scissors as they cut through the thin material. Every so often, Spense would stop, his teeth raking hard across Danny's collar bone before another sharp snip sounded within the dimmed bedroom.

"Remember," Spenser whispered dangerously, his lips breathing hotly against Danny's ear with each word. "You don't get to ask for anything or make decisions. You get nothing unless I allow it. You're here solely to please me, Danno."

Danny's body was letting go again. He could feel it and he was in trouble. With Spenser's unanticipated change of plans, he was in more trouble than he could handle. Plus, his dubious hold on the here and now was wreaking havoc on his ability to formulate a clear plan of action. Once believing he was in more danger with Dylan present, Danny now realized the exact opposite was true.

" _Stop_ ," Danny mumbled what he wanted to shout, his words slurred and his tongue thick in his mouth as he felt McCann lean back down over his body.

"So perfect. How could I ever even think to wait?" Lips slightly parted, Spenser heaved in a contented sigh; a gentle sound which spoke of his increasing level of desire. He'd cut away nearly half of Danny's shirt, the blade of the sharp scissors now resting coldly on delicate skin. He parted the material to view Danny's chest, the shirt only connected by the thin double knit collar. Spenser sighed happily as he took in the sheen brightening pale skin which only seemed to accentuate the muscular contours. He splayed his hands wide, pushing the scissors off to the side where they soon became buried in the bedding. He took his time, caressing and stroking Danny's neck, chest and the outline of his ribs. Dragging his hands at a luxuriously slow pace to thumb his nipples, mesmerized by the rise and fall of his own fingers as Danny quivered beneath him.

"Let's try this," McCann soothed as he bent down to lick, suck and nibble his way along Danny's collarbone tasting and breathing in the fear which was so palpable in the air between them. With an intense excited moan of his own, Spenser began to use his teeth leaving ever deepening marks as he eventually sunk deep enough to draw blood. Beneath him, Danny gasped and arched his back at the flux of pain as this new attack worsened.

"Lovely," Spense purred appreciatively. He tasted the saltiness of sweat mixed with blood on his tongue as he lapped sadistically along the damaged skin, only pausing to swallow, the tinny after-scent breathed out through his nose. It was exhilarating as he watched small speckled dots continually rise to the surface across the torn swath of flesh. He quirked his eyebrow in amusement as the usually talkative detective was stunned into silence.

"My Danno ... you're so ... damned perfect in every way. Tell me, how could I ever wait?" He watched the small beads of blood collect, combining with sweat only to then drop his head down again to layer his teeth over them, tasting a trickle of copper as he intentionally worsened the small wounds. While worrying the skin around his neck, Spense released one of Danny's hands again to reach down lower to palm across Danny's thigh. He strayed to caress more of his crotch, playfully grasping Danny directly through the thin material. These sleep pants would have to go next, but he wanted to see what might happen with his fast progression. His chuckle was soft, seductive when, at first, there was no acknowledgement.

"Let go," Spenser murmured into Danny's neck, his breath ghosting over bruises and blood. He leaned back gently, a grin growing as he let his fingers sink even more deeply into Danny's inner thigh before teasingly cupping his crotch more firmly, almost laughing because he had to coach Danny along. "Don't tell me that you don't like this. Does it feel good? Does my hand here, feel good? I could help you along ... in so many other ways ... yet we just don't have enough time."

So intent on the pain across his collarbone and the satisfied sounds Spense was making, Danny didn't even realize his hands had been partially released for an entirely new sensation. He groaned at his own inability to think as he finally heard and then felt where the mercenary had traveled to tease between them. He hissed in pain as McCann's fingers tightened around his privates. Rubbing, grabbing and then pulling roughly when McCann didn't obtain the response he'd hoped.

"Not excited?" McCann teased breathlessly. He ground his hips lower, groaning in delight as he rutted luridly against Danny's belly. A wanton grunt punctuated his words as he closed his eyes in rapt pleasure to build on the feeling while his fingers roamed freely across Danny's skin. "I ... on the other ... hand ... am ... so very ... _very_ excited."

"God, _stop_ ," Danny whispered desperately, voice cracking, as he failed in preventing McCann's escalating attack. The older man's hands were suddenly everywhere. Stroking his face; entangled in his hair; and continuing to playfully pinch between his legs despite the thin material which apparently wouldn't be there for long as McCann gave another determined tug, giggling at Danny's slow reactions. He laid his length over Danny's body, pinning him to the bed with his weight, a groping hand finding its way beneath the soft fabric of his pants to rest possessively over his cock ... a cock which twitched and refused to play possum in spite of the nauseated warning from a sickened and muddled mind. Danny grimaced in discomfort, a free hand scrabbling uselessly on a bare shoulder. Panicking when Spense trapped his hand to forcibly bring it to down towards his own hardening shaft which they then grasped ... _together_.

 _"Pl..se. Pl..se!"_ Danny begged, gagging as the older man's mouth slaved over his bloodied skin, sucking hard and collecting the red tinged moisture only to kiss him fully. Danny's gag turned into a stomach-churning dry heave as the older man stole his breath entirely, his own bloody taste now transferred to his lips by the man's tongue. McCann used his entire body to pin him down, bare chest to bare chest, grinding in earnest against him, and panting heavily into his mouth. Overwrought and helpless, Danny forgot about the stray hand which pawed and pressed across his groin and then groped lower still, fingers fondling under his pants. He momentarily forgot until the thin material was gone, directly replaced by McCann's fist to possessively pull and stroke him harder than before.

Danny gasped at the pain as McCann giggled into his mouth, battling his tongue and swallowing his air in another lingering kiss. His next words were stammered and barely intelligible sounds, keened around stressful noises. " _Pl..se._ Spense ... wait. Stop ... this." His hands had somehow wound up over his head again. He couldn't keep track of what was happening. Both wrists were stuck inside McCann's large, tight one-handed grip while the man snaked the other back down between their bodies.

"No more ... of this … foreplay. Now ... I need to have ... _us_ ... now," McCann grunted needy sounds into his mouth before resuming his attack on Danny's bloodied skin, alternating between licking and hard toothy nips. Grimacing at the onslaught of pain, Danny continually failed at evading the older man's seeking lips and sharp teasing bites no matter how he weakly tossed his head from side to side. He gasped for air when McCann paused, his body trembling from the shock of attack.

Grinning wildly, McCann pushed himself into a seated position, his arousal more than evident within tented pants. His hands trailed over Danny's bare chest, lingering too long on his semi-hard cock. His fingers circled over what was now teasingly his to have and he sighed loudly in pleasure. His eyes settled on Danny's face, sharp black taking in the fearful, muddled half-moon of blue.

"Now, Danno. Now," McCann whispered. "I should prepare you better … but time … there's never enough … _time, boy._ "

Danny fully panicked somewhere inside his head as McCann's right hand found his bare hip to roughly reposition his lower body for better access. That same hand moved down the small of his back, digging sharp nails between skin and mattress to claw at the rear of Danny's pants with a sharp urgency. This time his fingers snaked purposefully down between the flimsy band of his sleep pants, toying with the cleft of his butt cheeks before hooking into the fine material.

"I want these off," Spense growled, grunting his approval as the pants slipped down Danny's slim hips with a firm tug. He inhaled Danny's breath when he keened even louder then, only silenced once more by his tongue as they exchanged another heady taste of copper. "Off ... now."

Salty tears pooled in Danny's ears as his fight faded and he began to withdraw from reality, sickened by his disobedient body's response to the nightmare he could not escape. He was entirely trapped. Trapped and alone. No one was coming to rescue him. No one even knew where he was - he wasn't entirely sure he knew himself. _I love you Grace. I'm sorry._ Danny resigned himself to his fate, allowing the drugs to strip him of complete awareness as he drifted to a place where none of this was really happening. A place where Steve would still want him as a partner … and friend.

He'd given up on one level, yet his hands weakly pushed and scrabbled against anything they could fight against. The elder mercenary's sweaty chest, the muscular push of his thighs or whatever he could reach. Despite whatever new drug Spense had just injected him with, he still had a _chance_ and he couldn't afford to dispose of it arbitrarily – if not for himself, then for Grace.

McCann's breath filled his nostrils, spoiled by liquor and coupled with the sour scent of an old spiced cologne, worsened by the sharp scents of sweat and sex. Danny arched his back again unable to help himself as McCann attacked the skin across his neck and collarbone. He used the pain from another vicious bite to bring his senses back. Fingers stroked his chest, but it was far from sensual as callouses stuttered across his ribs, seeming to catch and painfully pull. He used that, too. Used it all to focus and find the wherewithal to do … _something_.

Danny's fingers slipped off the oily texture of the older man's shoulder, losing traction and strength when the mercenary slipped one arm under his hips to lift him upwards. McCann's feral grunts filled the room at the same time Danny connected with something smooth as his hand scrabbled wildly across the sheets. Something cool, metallic and he grasped the object without even thinking. He was shaking badly now – both from drugs and muscular tremors spurred on by the unapologetic adrenaline-rush of fear. Still not quite focused, a portion of Danny's brain obliged and he thrust his fist skywards into whatever part of McCann's body he could reach.

There was a stunned gasp and a gurgling sound and Danny nearly lost his grip on the scissors as blood joined sweat. Instead of stopping though, a natural fight instinct made him plunge the blades haphazardly again and again into skin and flesh; tearing and ripping so much so that his left arm was entirely coated in red. Danny only stopped when he realized McCann's dead weight was truly draped across him. Panting and wheezing through clenched teeth, Danny fumbled the slick blades as he fought his body to find reserves to move. He didn't comprehend he was keening a strange sound now. One frought with horror and desperation as he clawed himself out from under McCann's heavy weight. He mewled when he toppled over the side of the bed, jarring an elbow and stunning his head as he hit the floor. There, the scissors tumbled from his hand; quickly forgotten as only one though remained urgent.

 _Escape_.

The room swam sickly in the dark, yet he pushed himself to crawl towards the doorway, pausing only once to catch his breath and tug the sleep pants back up from where they'd pillowed around his knees. He vomited once, then twice on his way down the eerily shadowed hallway towards the main doors. He left blood stains along the walls as he plunged forwards; hands seeking the golden glint of the handles to find the doors … _open_.

Danny literally sobbed in his throat as the white doors sprung wide and he fell, sprawled prone into the brightly lit private atrium. He lay there in a half-faint, begging himself to move but only managing when he heard the tell-tale mechanical rush of the elevator. It thrummed from the floor directly into his ear and he lurched to his knees, an ungainly drunken gait carrying him towards the shimmering red of the stairwell's exit sign.

He hit the door bodily, his forearms essentially slamming into the silver bar hard enough where his momentum kept him going straight through. He tumbled to the hard concrete floor on the opposite side, eyes closed and wheezing painfully as the door simply snicked shut in his wake. He hadn't gotten this far before.

Except for the blood rushing in his ears and the sound of his own erratic gasps, the silence was blessedly deafening. He needed to keep moving though and wasn't sure that he could. But he had his chance. As ugly as it was, he had the chance which Leon had done his best to grant him and he couldn't throw it away. Yet when his eyes opened he nearly vomited again, bile rising in his throat as he squinted against the light; plain white and gray of the stairwell swimming in and out of view. The coarse brightness of the fluorescent lights hurt his eyes and twisted his stomach into knots. He could barely see straight as he forced uncoordinated limbs to react to the simplest of demands.

Danny wound up descending the first flight on his stomach; sliding and slipping down each step with an agonized thump. Scraping and bruising his chest along the rough edge of each concrete riser, he kept going. He ignored the pain to gain the luxury of time and distance; the perspective of each lost in a drugged haze as slow-motion movements seemed to slog heavily through a miasma of mud.

Danny wasn't entirely sure how he had managed the majority of the stairwell, but as the illuminated 'exit and parking' sign loomed in the distance, he didn't rightly care. He was beyond exhausted, had a more flimsy grasp of his own reality than most of the residents in Kāhi Mōhala and was fearful his last glimmer of hope was simply a delusion brought about by a myriad of drugs. But it was hope, nonetheless and Danny pushed himself to keep hold of it with every ounce of his being. As he slithered like a broken snake towards his salvation, he was deaf to all but his mantra … _Must get back to Grace_ … deaf to _almost_ all …

"Where the fuck do you think you're going, _Danno_?"

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	21. Chapter 21

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Before the elevators doors had softly closed on Dylan Walker, Leon had every intention of fading away from the garage and the private access area to the penthouse suite. He'd made up his mind to divest himself of almost two extremely difficult and dangerous years of hard work. Just like that. In a mere snap of his fingers; but self-preservation had always been a personal strong point. Especially when the writing was printed so legibly on the wall.

The mission - at least for him - was over.

Leon double-checked his watch, grimacing in distaste that it would likely take eight to twelve minutes for any reasonable response to happen. He knew INTERPOL and its inner-workings; he knew how the system often mis-fired and he shook his head unhappily. They wouldn't have been prepared for him to call back so soon and especially with such an incredible demand. He'd done his very best though right up until the last second of the eleventh hour and he had nothing more to learn or to gain by staying.

"It'll have to do," he murmured under his breath as he glanced just one more time towards the lift which rumbled ever upwards to the expansive suite. Feeling an unsettling amount of regret, he left quickly before he could think too hard on what might happen to the young detective. He left on foot, insisting to himself that he had to allow whatever might happen next to take place with the hope that the authorities would be able to salvage something. Despite his rational pep talk though, Leon was unhappy and he continued to softly curse as he implemented his exit plan. Unbeknownst to him, he hit the busy sidewalk at nearly the same time Danny tumbled down the third flight of stairs in a crazy painful scramble, breathless in his haste.

Leon faded into the hubbub of downtown Waikiki just seconds after Dylan stormed out of the elevator only to immediately stumble to an uncertain halt. The oddity of the open door and its stain of blood being the first clue that something terrible had happened. Something more untoward than he had even assumed possible.

" _Spense?_ " The baffled second tentatively called out, knowing what he'd find before even walking through the front door. For the first time in his life, Dylan felt a true rumble of fear as he followed the blood trail in reverse, stepping over the spatters of vomit and smears of gore with a growing sense of foreboding. He entered the bedroom, not in a rage, but in a slowly rising sense of terror as his eyes registered the sheer volume of blood before his brain could even decipher that it was Spenser buried face down in the blood-stained bedsheets.

"You dumb fuck," Dylan croaked in shock, his fist wedged between his teeth as he fought his wild emotions. Fear, anger and hatred all warred into one terrible mix as his stomach heaved in response to the sharp tannic smell and he fell to his knees. Spenser had indeed lied to him. But the blonde detective had managed do so much more and Dylan couldn't even fathom the how as of yet.

"What did you do? Why, Spense? _Why?_ " Dylan coughed out as his throat battled another dry-heave. "You ... promised ..."

His eyes were wide in his face as he stared at the back of Spense's head, the bright wetness of red a macabre contrast to the fine satin of white sheets. Afraid to approach the bed, he stayed on the floor, rocking back and forth on his knees as he simply stared at what remained of his lover.

"You _stupid_ ... _stupid_ ... fucking son of a _bitch_!"

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Shit! _Shit_ ... shit!" Sitting off to the side in the temporary offices, Kono nearly shrieked over the French woman as Agent LaRouche yammered an address in her ear. The reason was additionally startling in its intensity and Kono continued to shout as she struggled to her feet. This time she'd begun to spew orders and demands to her neighboring HPD peers. They'd barely been off their angry call with INTERPOL when the agency was hailing them again. Calling them with the most incredible amount of new information which not only related to INTERPOL's critical mission, but also implicated Danny.

"Chin! Steve!" She bellowed their names as she grabbed gear and demanded action. The two men had decided to clear their heads by vacating the claustrophobic space of the tight trailer. But now, she needed everything and everyone at her disposal from SWAT to a number of well-equpped HPD tactical units and her two team-mates. For the first time in days they had something solid. Shouting orders and relaying the coordinates, she'd whipped everyone into an organized frenzy within seconds. Bolting from the temporary modular office, she took the four steps two at a time to the hot parking lot.

"Steve! LaRouche just called and we've got something! Move now - _gear up_ \- and I'll explain on the way!" Her voice only increased in volume when she spied them, Chin hovering close to their boss as he stood in the poor shade of a scrappy tree. "Let's go!" She gestured towards his big truck where the rest of their gear would be in the locker installed in its bed. "We have to go! Now!"

"What? What is it? What do we have?" Steve demanded as he ignored the sweat which continually dotted his neck. Yanking his keys from his pocket, he slowly half-jogged to his truck to meet his youngest officer, feeding anxiously off her worry and excitement. Chin trodding closely on his heels. "What the hell happened?"

"LaRouche _called_ ... her man just pulled the plug," Kono hastily explained. "Downtown Waikiki. The Meridian ... penthouse ... according to her, McCann is there and there's a showdown in progress with his Second. They have Mercier somewhere else, but McCann's team is imploding and Danny ... she thought _Danny_ might also be there."

"He's been so close, all this time?" Steve ground out, his eyes flashing and the ache in his abdomen easily forgotten. He leaned over his truck, thumbing the locks open on the truck's locker, only intercepted by Chin as the Asian bodily moved him away.

"You said you'd hang back, Steve. You said that you'd let Kono and me manage anything that might go down," Chin admonished his younger boss knowing full well that the promise had never been very sincere. Regardless, he was determined to try as he plucked at least the truck's keys from Steve's hands. "I'm driving."

"I can manage, Chin," Steve complained as he fidgeted impatiently while Kono and Chin took turns helping him to gear up.

"I'm sure you can," Chin muttered rudely as he carefully fastened Steve's heavy tac-vest over his bandaged middle. "But I want you to more than just manage, Steve."

With those few words, Chin forced the man to accept their help while checking the readiness of their various weapons by rote, reacting only when Steve motioned determinedly that he wanted his knife, too. Mumbling under his breath about the weapon of choice, Chin obliged, crouching down to fasten the impressive tertiary weapon to Steve's left leg as instructed. Their objective was a posh hotel in the heart of Waikiki and one of the most exclusive penthouse suites overlooking the cityscape. Based on LaRouche's advice, INTERPOL's tiny local team, 5-0 and HPD tactical units would work together as their alert was severe enough to warrant an immediate reaction.

Steve chuffed a disgusted sound under his breath when Kono relayed the agent's preference for 5-0 and other authorities to take INTERPOL's lead. "Not happening," Steve snarked instantly. "We'll get there first anyway. This is ours now. Plain and simple. We go in hot ... we go in ready for anything with the knowledge that a friendly is inside."

"LaRouche doesn't know what we'll actually find," Kono hastily explained. "McCann and Walker are a certainty. Regardless, their man, this Leon Morris, pulled the plug pretty fast so it's a legitimate event."

"That's good enough for me and all I need to know from _them_ ," Steve countered angrily. Already seated in the rear of his truck, his gloved fingers were toying with the solid grip of his gun. Sweat now soaked the neck of his shirt and dampened the material under the weight of the heavy tac-vest. All of those feelings easily ignored as part and parcel of his mission. As he allowed his mental checklist to rattle through his head checking and rechecking gear, ammunition and imagining courses of action, all other thoughts were focused on finding his partner.

"Just get us there. Have an ambulance on call, waiting within two blocks for easy access," Steve said, not nearly content enough when Kono immediately relayed his orders.

As he anticipated, Steve and the bulk of their HPD tactical contingent descended first upon the downtown block, cordoning it off within seconds. Kono would remain there with that group, assisting in managing external perimeter activities. But no matter where they looked, there was no obvious sign of a higher authority and Steve sneered silently in Chin's direction about INTERPOL before waving his men together. "We go. Now."

"Elevator Steve," Chin demanded when he saw Steve's ever-more pale complexion. "Two teams with us for backup and at least two more in the side stairwell." He and Steve were inside the hotel garage and geared for action, surrounded by a contingent of HPD support, all who mirrored their high degree of resolve. But one look at Steve had him taking over their own plans of action now that they'd arrived. While Steve often opted for the more physical of the tasks, Chin was insistent on saving the man from himself. "Four HPD will take the stairs up; fully armed and suited."

Steve huffed out an angry sound as he held his side, his only response a curt nod of acceptance. They'd already reviewed the hotel's layout. There were only two access points to the penthouse. The security keyed elevator and the emergency stairwell which required an access code to enter, but not when used as an egress. He looked up when a harried man called out loudly, his hand extended as he offered them the key to the penthouse lift. Two strides later, Steve had pulled it from the hotel manager's hand, anger and stress clearly showing.

"The cameras are down; been down for months," the hotel manager admitted. He was embarrassed, flustered and instantly alarmed when Chin shoved him into the hands of another officer.

"Hold him for questioning," Chin demanded as the small portly Hawaiian gaped his mouth wide open. "Lock him up. No one leaves." He offered the newly upset man not a single word of reason, but Chin was well within his rights when it came to an upscale hotel not having a functioning security system. Further validated based on the wealthy clientele and expectations in properly maintaining such an expensive property.

"I want this area scoured and locked down," Steve agreed heartily with Chin's initial instructions. "No one in or out. Keep an eye out for our own and take no chances. You're all familiar with McCann, Walker and their team. In reality, we don't know how many men are on site. They're all dangerous, plus there could be any number of deadly surprises inside."

The teams separated and then made their way up as directed. However, within seconds of entering the stairwell, the HPD unit were quietly relaying reports of fresh bloody smears on the steps and handrails. If Steve had been stressed before, a new level of anxiety took over by the time his own group had arrived at the high penthouse floor. Pushed to the rear of the elevator by Chin and the two pair of HPD tactical experts, Steve was antsy and badly on edge when the doors slowly opened to the small atrium.

Crouched low and weapons primed, they were wary of the silence and then stunned by the beginnings of what would be a gory scene inside the penthouse itself. "Blood," Chin needlessly offered on a whisper as they exited the elevator and eased through the penthouse's front door. Insistent upon keeping Steve in the rear, he blocked the doorway to clear the hall first. "Someone left in a hurry ...likely injured ... no one's in the stairwell though?"

"Shit," Steve whispered fretfully when he saw the same stains on the floor and then on the inside of the emergency door. He peered over his small team to eye the entryway. He knew that the blood had all been left by Danny … _could_ _be_ Danny's and probably _was_ his blood. He choked down his emotions vainly. He was upset ... almost off his own game and fearful of what they'd find because the crime scene was only building in its horror as they cautiously crept further inside.

"Report!" He growled out to the teams in the stairwell. "Where are you? Status?"

" _Tenth floor. Nothing, Sir, except …. confirmation of … an extended blood trail,"_ a stressed voice informed them all via the comm links. _"Stairwell's been empty so far and each floor requires a card key for access. Opinion is that he - or whoever's been injured - has exited the building and we've demanded an external search, but we're continuing on our way up to meet you."_

"Fuck," Steve hissed though his teeth. "Kono? Report."

 _"Nothing boss,"_ she replied almost instantly in kind, her tone just as worried.

He could literally feel that Danny wasn't there anymore. He knew it in his head … and with his heart. He couldn't even look at Chin now. His gut clenched as he forced the lead despite Chin's hissed warning for caution and desire to keep him back. His stomach warred with his eyes and sense of duty as he cataloged the red trail, spatters of vomit and odd droplets of blood which continued down the hall, leading them to what would be the spacious master bedroom. The epicenter of whatever had recently happened.

"Don't touch a goddamn thing. Get forensics in here; I want Charlie Fong … only Charlie's to take lead on this," Steve ground out, his knuckles to his mouth as he took in the blood soaked bedding and half-naked man laying prone. He knew it was McCann before even fearing the body might be Danny's. Gun at the ready, he rounded the bed farthest from the doorway to see the mercenary's face while half his team ranged the room. The second half of their small team continued on, their soft whispers clearing room after room in the rambling penthouse. But inside the bedroom and for a very long moment, no one moved until Chin spoke.

"My god," Chin gagged despite years of experience. The sight was incredible in its gore, but knowing Danny had been here … could still be here for all they knew … made the scene so much worse. Regardless, the situation could have left him grievously wounded and Chin had to voice his next thought. His eyes flew to the anger etched across Steve's face, almost begging for an answer. "Where the hell is Danny?"

"Process this place from top to bottom," Steve demanded on a harsh whisper. "Miss nothing."

His eyes glittered brightly as he imagined what might have happened when he saw the scissors and half the bedding taken to the floor in a jumbled, stained mess. He glanced towards Chin, the silent questions shared between the men as their minds raced through an obvious scenario. More reports had been steadily coming in as the HPD team on foot gained their floor. More blood and more evidence was found as they approached and to everyone one key question remained quite clear: if Danny had managed to escape McCann via the emergency stairwell, where was he now? Why hadn't anyone found him yet?

"Where the hell did he go?" Chin whispered worriedly. He seemed afraid to speak in a normal tone of voice as he stared at the blood-soaked mercenary. "If he got out of here …. why haven't we found him yet? Where did he go?"

"I don't know," Steve whispered as he shook his head in confusion while he finally dared approach the bed. He refused to say Walker's name, but he could only think of the psychotic second. LaRouche's man had reported that Walker was on site. Kono had said that LaRouche used the term _imploded_ ... based on what he was seeing now, that only meant one thing had started to play out in the bedroom and Steve felt physically sick to his stomach. The ramifications of that fact were dire and Steve argued his flood of emotions as he tried to remain focused. Petrified of allowing his imagination to run wild, Steve leaned over the bed instead, his fingers splayed wide to bravely feel for McCann's pulse when he saw the faint pout of the man's lips followed by the tiniest of red bubbles.

" _Sonofabitch_! He's alive," Steve hissed, unable to hide the disgusted sneer in his tone. He willed his fingers to be certain then, driving them into the man's neck where the least amount of blood seemed to be before nodding again. "Get the EMT's up here," he confirmed in a fury. "Tell them they need to keep this scene as undisturbed as possible for forensics; but this bastard's … _alive_."

Under his hand, there was another subtle tremor. A small move of acknowledgment and Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously as the man's mouth twitched.

"What the fuck happened in here?" Steve demanded, his rage apparent and no longer controlled as McCann weakly stirred. Dark eyes opened to stare at Steve, a queer look of surprise evident despite the gravity of his wounds. "Was it Danny … it was, wasn't it? Who else was here - was it Walker? Talk McCann!"

"D'nno," McCann breathed out the affirmation, the shock of a prideful smile quirking the side of a bloody lip before he lost it. Steve's nostrils flared in alarm as he realized the man was literally impressed by his partner regardless of his current greivous state. Then there was a blink of an eye and then another as McCann tried to focus before pushing out a short troublesome sentence. "My … _m-my_ D."

"Where?" Steve growled menacingly. Behind him, Chin cursed under his breath as Steve balled a portion of the bedding and thrust it into the deepest wound in the mercenary's neck. There was a pained gurgle in response, but Steve persisted. "Where did Walker take him?"

McCann shuddered in pain as firm fingers pushed wads of fabric into the deep wounds in his neck and shoulder purportedly to stem the continued flow of blood. The Commander's fingers were ruthless though and McCann nearly stopped breathing right then and there from the flux of white-hot agony.

"Give me something!" Steve virtually roared into his face, his fingers welded into another deep wound on the meaty part of a shoulder to add insult to an already nasty injury.

McCann couldn't help curling in upon himself from the pain, the newly arrived and harried EMT's prevented from interfering not only by Chin, but now also the combined HPD tactical teams.

"Tell me, McCann," Steve demanded, hissing the words an inch from the mercenary's ear. "Where are they?"

As the 5-0 Commander added his hand to the deepest of the wounds nearest his jugular, McCann panted desperately for air. Then he grinned, his teeth grotesquely stained by blood as he pushed out a few simple words before his breath shuddered warningly in his damaged throat. He'd never willingly give up his mission, his team, and certainly never his Dylan. His face contorted as a weak toss of his head failed to alleviate the growing agony spreading now into his chest. Still he managed to keep his grin before chuffing out a bloody chuckle.

" _F -fuck_ you."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	22. Chapter 22

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Aggravated beyond measure, Smitty rubbed his hand over his face, barely getting his vision back under control as he drove confidently down the main thoroughfare for the highway. He glanced towards Dylan who sat in the passenger seat of their SUV. The inconsolable Second was sitting on one hip, cocked awkwardly to face the rear where the bound detective lay limply across the seat. The look on his face was one of pure unadulterated hatred.

Smitty had returned to the parking garage to retrieve McCann, instead he'd arrived just as Dylan was literally dragging the blonde cop from the stairwell. Though he was entirely confused, he'd jumped into action to help his younger boss the rest of the way as the sounds of approaching police sirens began to peal through the air.

"What the hell happened?" Smitty dared ask as he calmly drove by three speeding HPD vehicles. All were going towards the hotel, but he reconfirmed that with an astute eye momentarily glued to the rearview mirrors. "Where's Spense? What's going on?"

"He _killed_ him ... he ruined _everything_ ," Dylan hissed, spittle running down his chin. His gun hand flailing though the air to add import. Dylan's brain fizzled and his hands shook even more as he tried to tamp down his temper. He'd loved Spenser without restraint and he'd been cheated time and again. That fact was proven by the mere existence of the blonde man he held inside his bloodied hands. He'd been cheated and lied to. McCann deserved to die and so did the reason behind his useless itch. Still, he hadn't ever thought the detective would be able to actually harm Spence – much less _kill_ him.

As his jealous righteousness rekindled, Dylan's face grew darker with a needy sense of conviction. McCann's near naked body lay prone on the bed in the penthouse, his bare back showing no outward signs of injury. Yet, the river of blood pooling underneath was ever-growing. He hadn't dared touch him. Hadn't dared breathe as he had stood, wide-eyed and shocked at the foot of the bed; forcing himself not to scream Spense's name. The blood-soaked sheets were the red rag to Dylan's jealous bull and he had followed Danny's bloody trail to exact his revenge on the man who had stolen his world.

"He killed Spenser and now I'm going to kill _him_!"

"Easy!" Smitty gasped as he made one-handed grab for his superior's shoulder when a feral sound preceded the threat of an attack. That stern hold soon became the only thing preventing the young Second from storming into the back seat and Smitty almost lost control of the SUV. " _Hey, hey, HEY!_ Take it easy! I've got to drive here! This place is crawling with cops all of a sudden and now's not the time, boss!"

"But ... he killed Spense," Dylan spat, each word enunciated with a frightening clarity. However, he did deign to quiet ever so slightly as his words sank into his driver's brain. Dylan watched closely as Smitty blinked and then looked at him queerly before returning his eyes to the road.

"What?" Smitty's mouth gaped open before closing with a snap. "He ... _what_?" The detective was barely conscious and covered in blood. From the quick look he'd gotten as he'd shoved him into the SUV, the man's chest was bruised and bleeding from a weird series of marks. He'd been drugged to the gills, and Smitty was sure that Dylan had to be entirely wrong.

"But? _How_? I mean ... Dylan, the guy's dead to the world right now," Smitty sputtered in confusion. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Now you tell me, Smitty. Why did Spense want you to leave him at the penthouse?" Dylan sneered in response, the only telling sound of his sorrow was the raspiness of his voice. He gestured with his gun from his driver to aim it haphazardly at Danny. "Why did you drop him off?" He leaned dangerously across the cabin as if to threaten his driver now. Close and getting closer, Dylan waved the gun in his friend's face as he whispered sharply. " _Why_ , Smitty?"

At first, Smitty didn't know what to say, or even do as Dylan continued on his dangerous escalation. But he learned quickly that the question was more rhetorical in nature when the young man barked out a sharp laugh. Dylan didn't require an answer; he was about to make a sickening point. "Because he wanted to celebrate, Smitty. He wanted to fuck his brains out after he'd promised me that he'd wait ... that he'd _wait_ until we got this damned mission over with. He promised me ... and he _lied_."

"Shit," Smitty murmured quietly. The mission was at risk if their powerful boss was indeed dead. The summit was that very night and they'd no leader. They'd acquired their target and they had no _leader_. Money and credibility were on the line for each one of them; they'd all be dead men if they experienced a failure of this magnitude. Smitty glanced again towards Dylan Walker, the man's chest heaving as he sucked in air much too rapidly. His eyes were huge in his face, filled with tears but also an unquenchable fire. The Second had a certain strength and an undeniable reputation. He was simultaneously feared and respected, but he had to step his game up and focus; it was the only way for all of them to succeed and Smitty hid his perturbed uncertainty.

" _You_ have to do it, Sir," Smitty suggested quietly. "The summit ... make the decisions and call the shots at this critical time. Forget about _him_ until later - the men will follow you, Sir. They will, without a doubt if you lead them and show them the respect they need."

Dylan stared long and hard at Smitty, his face momentarily blank as he absorbed the man's words. Of everyone, he'd only ever trusted this one man - this man along with Spenser. Not once had he ever thought of usurping Spense's power though. But now. Now things were entirely different and he mulled the concept over in his mind. Could he truly lead the men? He looked at the unconscious detective and his lip curled derisively. There were places on the _Fatima_ where he could easily house Spense's toy; afterwards, since he owned him too now, he'd be able to do what Spense had once promised him. Of that, Dylan could be assured.

He quieted for an even longer moment, his harsh breathing the only sound in the cabin of the SUV. He needed to regain his control and think ... the mission was still on ... he had more at stake with Spenser dead. His internal struggle lasted a bit longer until he forced his own mind to consider something more rational. Smitty was right. He had the men, the female doctor and the means to complete their mission. As the new commander, he _had_ to take over ... he had the power. He would make the summit work.

"Fine," Dylan whispered to himself as a small, pleased smile twisted his lips. He could do this and he'd earned it after all this time. He turned again to face the back of the truck and gave out with soft snort. He resolutely leaned into the back seat far enough to be poised just over Danny's body, ignoring the worried look in Smitty's eyes when he stroked the muzzle through the mussed blonde hair.

"Daaannooo?" Dylan sang out dangerously just loud enough for Smitty to still hear him and the driver swallowed hard as he piloted the truck, not at all envious of the detective's pending fate. "I'm going to make this worth my while. Now it's my turn ... it's my turn to have a go with you after the mission... to play with you _my_ way. Just you and me ... later. Would you like that, _Danno_?"

He caressed blood away from Danny's mouth with the muzzle of his gun, drawing it upwards like red paint towards a closed eye. He leaned in even closer to follow the path he'd made with the length of his tongue before clenching his fingers in the blonde hair. He lifted Danny's head, unsurprised to find the man still completely unresponsive and he laughed out loud. Dylan callously released the hold he had in the hair, laughing once more as Danny's head dropped back to the seat with a resounding thud. His labile emotions and unstable mood had Smitty wincing at the unprecedented change.

"Sir?" Smitty enquired.

"You're right," Dylan said in agreement as he abandoned his unresponsive charge to comfortably situate himself in the passenger seat. Danny was apparently briefly forgotten as Dylan smiled warmly at Smitty, calmly fastened his seatbelt, tucked his weapon into its shoulder holster and smiled. His eyes were disturbingly clear when he nodded just the once.

"This mission is now my responsibility."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Wakey, wakey," Dylan growled angrily into Danny's ear while he fisted the front of the tattered t-shirt. Once more taken by his volatile emotions, the young second nearly forgot his new vows when he saw the blood staining the detective's arms. He scowled when Danny's eyes hardly opened, cursing under his breath for whatever volume of drugs McCann had pumped into his bloodstream. His anger quickly turned into hatred though as soon as he saw the murky blue eventually peering up at him. He could finally do things his way, but the cost was already much too high and none of it had needed to happen.

"This is _your_ fault!" Dylan said harshly, his hold tightening to that of a near strangle as he shook Danny hard enough for the half-conscious man's teeth to rattle in his head. "You took him from me and I should kill you now for that!"

He sneered sadistically when Danny began to cough uncomfortably, his grip tightening reflexively as a weak struggle commenced. If Spense had been right about any one thing, it was the sheer fact that the man was a fighter. Yet at that moment, Dylan could so easily kill the detective. With a gun, a blade or even his bare hands, the blonde cop was helplessly at his mercy. But just as he tightened his fingers, a calming hand fell to his shoulder, a warning squeeze bringing him back to center and Dylan loosened his hold just enough.

"Sir, stay the course," Smitty reminded him quietly from just behind him. "No distractions. We don't want to draw attention here on the dock. Let's just get him situated down below so we can join the men and ready for the summit. He's not our priority just yet."

Running his fingers through his hair, Dylan nodded in agreement. He did need to stick to the hastily made plan created on their way to the docks. As always, Smitty's advice was sound and he was critical in keeping him on an even keel.

"Help me with him," Dylan said as he started to drag Danny from the SUV. "He's no good; he's barely awake."

Danny moaned as he felt himself being moved. He'd been unaware of anything for what seemed a long while now. Roused from a deep place, it took time for him to realize that his circumstances had worsened when he heard Dylan Walker's voice. His arms were grabbed and he was hoisted vertically, his head falling forward on a wobbly neck. He forced his eyes partly open, yet he could barely focus on his surroundings. Muzzy-headed, he only sensed the ocean and the mammoth size of a ship. Both of these things were wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

"Let ... me go," Danny croaked brokenly as the slats of what could be a plank appeared beneath his feet. Below that, blackish water twinkled in a half light and he weakly put up a struggle just before he was taken through an oddly shaped door. The water disappeared, as did any semblance of fresh air. Replaced by stagnant, oily smells, the air was fetid and incredibly aged. Danny shook his head once, dizzy and confused as he was toted along down a narrow metal hallway, the temperature dropping to an uncomfortably cold degree. "Please. No, no ... more."

"But Danno, there's plenty more. In fact, to start with, I've got these new digs for you," Dylan breathed into his face as he hoisted the detective into his arms long enough for Smitty to open a second door which led down yet another dark corridor. "At least temporarily until I finish the mission with my men. Then, we'll be private enough so we can play together just a little until the time is right to end what's been a very … _special_ relationship."

Unable to object verbally as the man spiralled out of control, Danny could only moan his objections. He couldn't afford to go with Walker. He couldn't fathom being able to deal with the man's evil as he was helplessly carted deeper into the old freighter. Smitty had his other arm and he yanked hard, nearly dislocating Danny's shoulder as he pulled him roughly along. The three had gone into the defunct tanker without the other men knowing, moving covertly and quickly downwards to dank, below-deck rooms. As they got deeper into its bowels, Danny knew those consequences were only going to get worse — significantly worse.

"I heard something about you," Dylan panted as they finally came to a stop. A dangerous leer in his voice kept Smitty intrigued and hanging on every word. "A bit of a secret, maybe? Something about … not liking tight spots? Eh, Detective? Tight, dark, airless rooms … small coffin-like spaces which could barely be called a room?"

Though his legs refused to cooperate, Danny tried to stop his forward motion when Dylan moved aside, a terror finally ripping through him. He'd not followed much of the one-sided conversation, though the general gist of it had been quite obvious. One other thing which was becoming all too clear was how well Spencer McCann had done his homework. A little too well, in fact, judging by the incredibly tight space which now loomed ominously in front of them. The man was fastidious and thorough ... and had apparently shared _all_ of his research with his 2IC.

"No," Danny tried to argue, unbridled fear invoking one last adrenalin surge to fight ... but he was held too tightly; too weak and experiencing the effects of whatever drugs Spenser had seen fit to use. He was too much at a disadvantage, nauseated and dizzy ... and now stuck with a man driven solely by a jealous hatred.

"I have important work to do with Smitty, and the men can't know that you're anywhere near the _Fatima_ \- let alone on her. If they knew you were here, it would undermine my next steps. So for now, you'll be staying down here under lock and key," Dylan taunted breathlessly, his teeth showing whitely in the muted darkness. "The last guest had no complaints, though this will be quite the downgrade for you. No room service or king-sized bed. No, nothing like that ... no more penthouse for dear Danno. Don't be afraid though because I'll be visiting you … I'll be coming back after the summit … then we'll have fun together. I can promise you that …. I don't want to kill you. Well, let me clarify that ... I don't want to kill you _yet_. Consider this your first lesson in learning obedience, pet. To understand where you belong … and who you belong _to_."

Danny moaned low in his throat, for Dylan had found an obscenely small room within the ship. It might have been a small storage closet at one time. Something which might have held a bucket or broom. Now, there was nothing but a tiny stained mattress, a battery operated camping lantern and a plastic gallon-sized bottle full of water. As his brain began to shut down, Danny only dimly realized what a lone white bucket left in the corner of the room might be used for.

"There's air," Dylan said as Smitty tossed Danny down to the mattress head first. "At least there should be."

He smiled as muffled plaintive sounds were swallowed up by the thick steel of the ship's walls. Dylan watched sadistically as his captive squirmed weakly on to his side. Danny's muscles were already trembling from the ongoing use of drugs. But now his shivering seemed to increase from the cold - or even due to a growing shock - none of which Dylan especially cared about.

"Don't... _lea_... leave me in here," Danny whimpered to both men, his mouth made even more dry from a rising state of fright. He stupidly weighed his odds in taking down either, odds made worse based on the way his legs remained utterly uncooperative. He was incapable of standing, let alone walking. He could barely form a thought. He wasn't on his game; he wasn't even close to being able to do more than beg.

"Calm down, _Danno_. Maybe this experiment will teach you to behave? In the very least, you can ask for penance," Dylan snarled.

With that, the solid door slammed closed and Danny began to openly panic.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	23. Chapter 23

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"I guess this was a lesson well worth learning," Dylan almost crooned the words to Danny who lay limply on the rear seat of the large SUV. He glanced in the rearview mirror at the bound detective. "We have something to celebrate at least; well, maybe not you as much as me and my team. They've accepted Spense's absence ….better yet, with Smitty's support, they've accepted _me_. The summit went extremely well. The final phase of the mission is a bit delayed though with this change in leadership; however, we've no doubts about our success. It's just going to take a few more days to finalize across all interested parties."

Dylan sneered at what he saw in the mirror. Danny hadn't put up a struggle for this final leg of a very short trip. In fact, he was once more barely conscious, which had made both Dylan's and Smitty's job all the more difficult in physically hauling their captive from the old tanker under the dark of night.

"You all right there, Detective?" Dylan sneered. "You're rather … quiet … for a change. Nothing to say? Not a word? The exchange on the _Fatima_ happens on Friday. Do you think you can hang in there for me? Unlike Spense, I'd like to celebrate that achievement as the official … _termination_ … of our relationship."

Danny's eyes were closed and he rocked in time to the motion of the car, only able to relish the fact that he was free of the dungeon. Tethered in front, his wrists hung limply together off the side of the long bench seat, jouncing loosely to every bump or turn in the road. Only one hand was tightly fisted though. In his palm he held a trinket he'd found in the dismal cell-like room. An odd find in that it was a colorful woman's hair barrette. Pretty, rectangular and studded with sparkling gemstones, he'd used its sharp edges to jar himself from a sheer panic. That tactic had only worked for a certain period of time though. When that eventually failed, he simply couldn't let the barrette go. It was the only thing currently tangible in his muddled existence. So, Danny kept it wadded between his sweaty fingers as if a special talisman.

His left arm hadn't been able to sustain its abuse so soon after being injured either. Barely healed, the muscle ached through to the bone from when Smitty had torqued it so very badly and Danny truly didn't feel like stressing it more than he had to. Despite how he lay so absently aware though, a small voice urged him to get up and move. That tiny breath of sub-conscious desperately wanted him to act - to take Dylan down while he was distracted and driving through the dark streets. While they were alone. The voice prompted him to even go for the door handle and just roll away from the moving vehicle. To do _anything_ to escape. Nonetheless, Danny simply lay there, wooden and weakly pliable with only a small golden prize tucked inside his fingers.

Dylan had rolled the windows partly down, allowing the late night air to buffet Danny's face and further dry the sweat and tears which stained it. The freedom had roused him more, but he saw no need to fight. There was no need to open his eyes. No reason to argue. He already knew better. He'd learned enough through the last many hours to mind his tongue. He had no backup and any hope of escape had been dashed by his experience in his small cell. In the depths of despair, he'd vowed to toe the line and _behave_ \- to not antagonize Dylan any more than he already was.

"While Smitty keeps my troops in line, I've got new digs for us for the next few days," Dylan prattled on as if Danny cared. "I had to move you because the _Fatima_ will be used to conduct the final exchange. There's simply too many important clients and I don't want anyone to even know you're now mine. Regardless, I know you'll like where we're going much better than where you just stayed; though of course, we can go back if you ever need a reminder of how we might need to play this out, Danny."

His conversational tone almost made it seem as if he cared, too, but Danny knew that surely wasn't the case. Neither of them remotely cared for the other and Dylan's talk was always going to be cheap. _Talk_ only substantiated that Dylan was in complete control and revelling in the feeling. Lying on his side on the backseat of the SUV, Danny felt like he was well on the way to losing his mind.

They drove for more than an hour. Dylan eventually falling silent and the night air soothing as it caressed Danny's face while the movement of the vehicle lulled him into a dream-like state.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"He's still alive," Kono informed both Chin and Steve when they finally arrived at the hospital. They'd only left the hotel and penthouse after they'd exhausted any potential leads which, in all reality, were very few and abysmally far between. Chin had just barely managed to force Steve away from the horrific crime scene only after Charlie Fong had arrived with his forensics team. Hours had passed now and night had well fallen.

According to Kono, McCann had survived emergency surgery and was housed in the surgical intensive care unit. She'd vetted all active medical staff and two pair of HPD officers ensured only approved personnel gained access to the mercenary.

"That's fantastic news," Steve groused sarcastically. But he was tired and simply couldn't maintain any thoughts about McCann when he truly only had his partner on his mind. "I can't believe we don't have anything. We were so damned close and I just can't believe Danny wasn't _there_."

"I know," Kono whispered. "It's so ... wrong. It's not fair." Their entire team was demoralized. Beaten down and incredibly depressed by the deplorable conditions inside the penthouse. On one level they were all proud of what Danny had achieved. But on another, incredibly upset by Fong's initial findings. The drugs, the syringes, the completely illogical discovery of Danny's personal clothing neatly folded and tucked away in a tiny spare closet. Shoes, socks ... everything he'd been wearing the day he'd been taken. There was also little doubt that McCann's 2IC had spirited him away, his condition unknown. Each of them knew that Danny's future would be limited with every passing second.

"I want to see him," Steve announced suddenly. McCann was all they had now and Steve simply couldn't agree to having nothing. There was always a way; always a method to get more intel. "Alone."

"That's not a good idea," Chin said. "Steve, you can't ... you know ... _touch_ him."

Steve didn't acknowledge his friend as he simply walked away, the slowness of his gait the only thing indicating that he was in pain. He waved the HPD guards away when he entered the SICU and then stood over the mercenary. He stood at the foot of the man's hospital bed and simply stared at him until McCann opened his eyes.

"Danny did a number on you," Steve said. "You should be dead and for the life of me, I don't know why you aren't. There isn't a single redeeming quality about you, McCann. Not a single thing. You take and take and take ... you destroy everything you touch and then you take a sick amount of pride in that destruction."

McCann tiredly quirked an eyebrow at the words. He meant the look to show his amusement and he was satisfied when the 5-0 Commander's face further darkened in anger. Virtually unable to speak, his neck was swathed in white bandages, some speckled with blood. One arm was similarly heavily wrapped and then strapped to his body, while the wrist of the other was cuffed to the bedrail. He'd lost in inordinate amount of blood and yet the man doggedly refused to die. In fact, the doctors weren't sure if he'd truly rally enough over the next twenty-four hours. The damage Danny had inflicted so haphazardly on the man's neck and arm was extensive enough to sever blood vessels, nerves and muscle. Only by some divine error had he managed to miss the mercenary's jugular.

Steve caught the faint look and shook his head as a hateful sneer lifted one side of his mouth. "What? You think that _Walker_ is a picture of success? Some poor kid that you hand-picked out of a slum? Some kid that was already screwed up enough for you to twist and warp even more than he already was? You created a killer, McCann. A cold-hearted _murderer_ who has my best friend and thinks that you're _dead_. So, if he hasn't done it already, what do you think he's going to do next? And of all people, does _Danny_ deserve that?"

McCann lay there listening. He knew that Steve was right when it came to what his Dylan would do next to his Danno; especially if he believed that he'd been killed. If fact, that was an interesting realization which Spenser hadn't quite considered. He'd sensed Dylan's entrance; he'd heard his voice and then wondered why his beloved hadn't helped him. Now, it made more sense. Unable to speak and grievously injured, Spense hadn't been able to move let alone speak.

He frowned as he considered more of the implications of what McGarrett had just shared. If Dylan thought him dead, what of Danno? But also, what of his mission … and his men? What of the summit and Doctor Mercier?

"Give me something," Steve whispered, interrupting McCann's train of thought. He leaned heavily on the bed's foot board; clenching the slim metal until his knuckles turned white while he fought to keep his voice low and reasonable. "Give Danny a chance. _Please_."

McCann tightened his lips, the frown becoming more of an angry scowl. He toyed with the plea and said nothing as he forced his beleaguered brain to make a decision. In the end, he opted to say nothing. Honor was strong amongst thieves and killers. Anything he'd say would further lead authorities to his Dylan and McCann knew that whatever his young lover believed or did now was a direct consequence of his own stupidity. He had – as his beloved second had so rightly predicted – let his 'itch' get the better of him. He had endangered the mission and his penance now was his silence.

Steve stared long and hard at the mercenary, uncertain and yet hoping against hope that he'd get something. _Anything_. Any clue that might lead them to Danny before … Steve shook his head, evicting the thought before it could take up residence.

"Don't make me beg, McCann. Please. Help us bring him home." Steve stared so hard his eyes practically bored holes through the man's skull, but the only response he got was a strange expression on the mercenary's face before he heaved in an audible breath. Steve held his own as he waited, watching as Spenser's tongue flicked like the snake that he was, drawing moisture across his dry lips in preparation for speech.

"No," he croaked, a queer smile gracing his lips before his eyes closed and his face fell lax in slumber.

" _Sonofa_ …" Steve practically screamed as he slammed his hand into the bedrail. "Fuck you, McCann. Fuck. You."

Steve had to fight the feral urge to kill the man where he lay. As Chin burst through the doors, Steve doubled over, his physical and emotional pain causing him to white out for the briefest of moments.

"Steve? _Steve_!" Chin grabbed his boss' shoulders as the man threatened collapse. "Get me a chair in here. NOW!" As the HPD detail scrambled to act on his orders, Chin dropped to one knee in front of his boss, hands still firmly planted on his shoulders.

Steve sucked in a pained breath and swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. One hand on the older man's shoulder, he straightened.

"I'm good, Chin."

"Hardly," Chin chuffed. "Sit down before you fall down, for God's sake." Chin indicated to the plastic chair offered by a harried young HPD officer.

"I said, I'm good," Steve wiped his face and shrugged from Chin's grasp and the two stood in silence as their eyes met. Chin opened his mouth to air his frustration but snapped it shut almost immediately, shaking his head at the determination he saw in his boss' eyes. He knew that face. Steve had tamped down his emotions and though his pain was blatantly obvious through his exhaustion, he wasn't giving in to it any time soon. Chin recognised the look – the 'SEAL-on-a-mission' glare – and he knew better than to attempt to stop him. He released his grip on Steve's shoulder and stepped back, waving his hand toward the door as the man began to leave.

"Fine. Go. When you collapse in a corner somewhere, what good will you be to him then?"

Steve almost staggered from the SICU, leaving his exasperated friend scrubbing one hand through his hair as he patted the young officer's shoulder in thanks.

They had literally nothing. Nowhere to even start looking … and Danny's time was running out – _if_ he was even still alive.

" _Fuck_."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	24. Chapter 24

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

He didn't know what he'd expected, but what was relayed to him certainly wasn't what he _wanted_ to hear. Of all the scenarios which played through his mind, never once had he anticipated McCann's injuries or that the detective would be in _Walker's_ hands.

Leon was currently biding his time in a dive motel as far away as humanly possible from his old teammates and the mission at hand. He'd checked in with his handler to confirm the validity of his extraction plans when he briefly wondered if he should attempt re-joining the fray. However, he knew little about the _Fatima_ and even less about Mercier's condition. He'd been of little help to INTERPOL in progressing their side of the mission, since no one knew how McCann's disappearance would impact the summit and the subsequent exchange of … _merchandise_.

General consensus was that with McCann officially out of the picture and not expected to survive his wounds, Leon not consider any option to re-engage. But these very facts - coupled with the detective's disappearance - were startling to him. He didn't know what he'd wanted to happen, but he'd been dumbstruck by INTERPOL's update _to him_. McCann's life-threatening injuries and Walker's apparent ability to get away with the trapped detective were both unprecedented and incredibly unexpected events.

"Goddamn it," Leon muttered under his breath.

He hung his head feeling an unlikely misery, eyes closed as he sat on the very edge of the old mattress. Morning was dawning and the sea birds were beginning to scream in earnest outside. A few motel doors opened and closed, some slamming hard enough to shake the very frame of his small room. Lost in thought, Leon never reacted to the sounds, remaining quietly pensive as he mentally explored his options.

INTERPOL had offered nothing and were unwilling to expend additional resources to actively locate the Five-0 officer in spite of Leon's specific request. He was _not_ stupid enough to risk himself by going back in. In all likelihood his cover had been well and truly blown and even with McCann out of the picture, there was a good to excellent chance Leon would be joining him in the ICU – if not the morgue - the moment his psycho of a lover laid eyes on him.

Leon pressed his cell to his forehead as he perched on the bed, wracking his brain for the solution to his problems. He had done so very many questionable things during this mission. Things that made him sick to his stomach and which would never make it to a report. He worried for himself; for how much shit was going to rain down on him for the clusterfuck it had turned into. Leon had no idea what he had left to salvage of his career at this point – or even if he wanted what was left. He opened his eyes and stared at his go-bag. He had enough cash and ID to make it out of the country and he could use the contacts he had made to set those wheels in motion. He well knew the places one could get lost in … he could start afresh – have a new life. A life without all this … this _crap_.

None of that would help ease his conscience though – and Leon did have a conscience. It was screaming at him to do more for the detective, but his hands were tied and INTERPOL had washed _their_ hands of the whole debacle. He was just one man, so really, what could he do?

"Just move on, Leon, old man," he remarked quietly as he dropped his cell in the bag. "You gave him a chance, there's nothing more to be done."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny's thoughts had strayed once again to Grace. Imagining her beautiful face was the only thing that grounded him. After Dylan had moved him to his new 'digs', he had spent a considerable length of time studying the walls of his new confines. He had stared longingly at the window high above him, knowing it would never amount to a means of escape. He was exhausted, shackled and hurting. Dylan had been less than impressed with his apparent inability to put one foot in front of the other in a timely fashion. He had tried – he really had – but he simply had nothing left in the tank. He had emerged from his drugged existence into hell. The water was barely enough to quench his thirst and what food he had been given was nary enough to sustain a child, much less a grown man. He had kept his mouth shut when Dylan goaded him, having already learned the hard way that whatever answer he might give would invariably be the wrong one.

He drew in a breath, the musty air sweeter than his last abode, yet still not enough to mask the smell of blood, piss and sweat. Danny had been left in the same soiled clothing he had been found in; the combination of his own and Spenser's blood now crusted and dry. He was embarrassed by the stains on the sleep pants; the result of drugs and claustrophobic panic. Danny almost laughed as he looked down at his own filth. So far removed from his usual attire, it definitely wouldn't match any of his ties. The small giggle which escaped him hurt his ribs though and he braced himself as he lay back down in the dirt, tracing the outline of his daughter's name into the dust with the edge of the barrette he still held in his hand. As the pre-dawn light from the window brightened to show promise of a sunny day, Danny closed his eyes and wondered if Steve might give it to her for him after they found his body. He thought his Gracie would like it very much.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

_"Is this Lieutenant Kelly?"_

Chin stopped walking as the disembodied voice echoed into his ear. He'd been hot on Steve's heels, but was now forced to stop as the oddity of the caller's voice drew his attention.

"Who is this?" Chin demanded, confused by the odd sound of the robotic tone and yet angry as he lost sight of his boss around a corner. "Listen, I don't have time for games right now ..."

 _"A friend who needs you to listen."_ The voice was made flat, monotone by the device being used. Nonetheless, there was a keen level of anticipation as he waited to gain Chin's full attention. _"I hear you lost something. Someone very ... important. Yes?"_

"Who are you and what do you know?" Chin breathed out his questions quickly, stunned into really listening now. He was hanging on to every syllable and vainly trying to identify a manner of speech or tiny clue. But the caller was smart; too smart and Chin couldn't even readily tell if the caller was male or female. He spun in place in the short hallway from the SICU, anxiously looking for Kono or Steve. However, at the very early morning hour, no one was near him; not even medical staff.

Mired in place, Chin could only focus on the caller and set to memory every single word being shared. "Who the hell is this?"

_"Like I said, I'm a friend. I've got nothing concrete. In fact, what I share might just be old, old news based on a very bad hunch. But ... you got a sweet tooth, Lieutenant? Maybe you should look into that. Refined sugar isn't at all good for you ... or your missing detective ..."_

"What the hell are you talking about?" Chin breathed in confusion, though his brain was assimilating the vague clues while he tried to coax more information from the phantom caller. "I need more ... I need more than this!"

But the call ended suddenly leaving Chin's head in a turmoil. He stared at the phone as if it were to blame; but he knew ... he knew ... that he'd just been spoon-fed the one and only chance to find Danny.

It took only a split second to start moving. He took off at a slow jog but then was in a flat out run by the time he hit the main lobby, not only catching up to Steve, but bypassing him for his cousin.

"What?" Kono asked as Chin grabbed her arm and piloted her backwards into a chair. "What happened?"

"Write this down," he demanded, waiting the few seconds it took for her to pull out her tablet. "Nothing concrete. Might be old, old news based on a very bad hunch. Look into my sweet tooth. Refined sugar isn't at all good for you ... or your missing detective ..."

"What the hell, Chin?" Kono muttered as she did what was asked. She hadn't dared to look up as the words were spouted at her. She typed madly away on the device, her eyes huge as he got to the last few words. "This is about Danny?"

"Danny? What ... what's happened?" Steve choked out as he caught up to his harried friend. He was holding his side, pale and still shattered by his audience with McCann. He could barely wait as Chin grabbed his arm and sat him gently down next to Kono.

"I just got a call ... the caller was using a voice scrambler," Chin chuffed out breathlessly. "What's it mean, Kono? An old factory? Sugar refinery? Most of those are on Kauai ... so what the hell's around here? What old concrete, abandoned refineries are here?"

"There's one almost two hours away," Steve announced. He struggled back to his feet, pain written over his face, but determined to act immediately. He didn't need to know more or wonder if the lead was sound or a total sham. He had to move and he had to try anything to find his partner. Whatever Chin was offering through this mystery caller had to be good enough.

"Been there as a kid. Got my ass kicked by my dad for sneaking under the fence. I want it ... Kono, find anything else remotely similar and organize HPD. Chin and I are going to the one out by Waikane.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	25. Chapter 25

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny didn't know how he got the upper hand on Dylan. Maybe his incredible lack of luck had finally taken a happy turn. He would never know nor be able to explain it in an intelligible manner. He'd been lying on his side, dozing off and on in his new prison, alternately cold and then hot as the sun gained height on the morning. Wallowing silently in a stench that surrounded him or even was of him. He'd been surprised and almost hopeful at the sound of an engine. But his hopes had been obliterated when Dylan had returned so early - it seemed as if he'd scarcely left and now he'd returned with evil in his eyes. The new leader's mood was sour and Danny had known that plans had changed yet again. This time permanently.

As he stumbled along in the sun, Danny's heart was still pounding painfully inside his chest. His breath harsh, thin and his vision unreliable. Their physical battle had been short but terrifying for Danny when the leader had spied the sparkle between his clenched fingers. A moment later, Dylan was trying to pry Danny's hand open - _the hand that held the barrette._

 _"What do we have here?"_ Dylan had demanded to know. _"Give it up, Danno. Give it to me."_ He'd clawed and worried at Danny's fingers, angry that he couldn't get the strange pretty thing out of the detective's hands. He'd taken Danny off his feet in a rage, sitting across his chest to abandon the trinket for the favor of Danny's neck. But that's when Danny had snapped.

He _needed_ the barrette. He didn't know why, even. He only knew that the barrette was the last thing which he'd allow anyone to take away. Losing that damnable pretty thing pushed him to live.

So, he'd completely lost it.

Hatred and fresh memories of the small cell-like room added to the mix and he'd pushed himself even further when strong fingers put yet more pressure around his neck. He was on his back, legs flailing wildly with Dylan trapping him easily enough. He had no sense of planning ahead or being able to understand more than the blurred black shape which loomed over his chest. He only knew that he _needed_ what he had protected within his hands.

He'd thought he'd given up on everything, yet something had still fought hard to live deep within him. He _had_ given up on being able to get the ruthless fingers away from his neck. Instead, his hands were furiously scrabbling across the filth of the floor, nails tearing sharply, desperately seeking anything as he lay stranded on his back with Walker's fingers resolutely wrapped around his neck. Tight and getting tighter until Danny felt the blood rushing into his head, his hearing dimming to nothing but a frightening roar as he was literally strangled to death.

The crazed killer was near to winning when Danny's haphazard search yielded the old rusty pipe. It was all he had, but it was enough. With a final heave, he connected with the side of the former second's head, seemingly caving it in and sending slivers of jarring, tingling pain through his own wrist and forearm.

A split second later, all movement had ceased. The scuffle had ended with a cloud of old dirt and dank dust resettling to a dismal concrete home. _It was over,_ yet Danny had continued to lay on his back, his lungs almost uselessly struggling for air as Dylan Walker's fingers fell from his throat. He'd been so stunned by the achievement, he'd simply lain there in the dirt and grime of the old sugar refinery just staring dazedly upwards at the ruined ceiling where steel pipes and tattered material hung in dismal shreds.

The pipe had rolled from his fingers just after connecting with skin and bone. A lifetime later, he'd found questionable energy to push Dylan's dead weight off the upper half of his body, leaving a trail of blood and gore across his already soiled t-shirt. His fingers rediscovered the barrette which he'd been forced to drop to save himself and he weakly shoved it into the sagging pocket of his thin pants. Danny had never looked back as he'd rolled to his knees, still struggling to shake the grayish veil from his vision. He'd failed at being able to catch his breath from the strength of the man's fingers which had nearly throttled him to death.

Danny never looked at Walker's sprawled body because he now had only one final objective: to escape and find home. But now as he looked around, head bowed and squinting against the murky edges of black which wanted to send him down again, he didn't know where he was. He had no clue as he staggered forward on his bare feet and simply aimed for the promise of freedom, his own hand cradling the thickening ache at the front of his neck as he tried to find the ability to simply _breathe_.

Wincing in pain from the brightness of the late morning sun, Danny protected his tearing eyes with his forearm. He was shaking badly, in shock and scarcely able to think. _Outside_ meant _freedom_ and that meant he had to keep _moving_. From what he could see, he was in an expansive abandoned warehouse-like setting; the sun was rising in the sky, already hot and overwhelming to his downtrodden state. Off in the distance, he could see the dizzying blurred sparkle of water behind aged docks.

Even outside though, nothing was familiar to him. Freedom was still gained at a price.

He wobbled in place, a dry cough plaguing his throat as he forced himself to quiet his heart and take the calmest, steadiest of breaths he could manage. Both of those things proved impossible though. Dylan had done something inside his throat and Danny couldn't find the space to suck in more than a dim tendril of air. He wheezed and whined as he fought his body's need for more oxygen. He argued his body's wish to keel over right then and there.

Barefoot, and both emotionally and physically ruined by his ordeal, he picked a direction away from the water and began a blind, half-hearted lurch down the middle of what might have been an old access road.

Confused and driven by desperation, barely able to breathe, Danny never even considered using Walker's SUV.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Chin was driving Steve's big blue pickup truck, the man in question sitting anxiously in the passenger seat.

"Come on, come on, come on!" Steve muttered repeatedly as Chin increased their speed to the defunct warehouse along the old shipping docks. Their intel from a phantom-like robotic voice was all they had to rely upon. Yet he felt the truth in the man's words. He _knew_ they'd find Danny - and Dylan - somewhere within the old, rambling facility.

"Slow down!" Steve slammed both hands on the dashboard, as his frantic shout caused his Asian friend to react instantly. One foot tapped the heavy truck's brake pedals, pumping to stop its forward momentum and fighting the steering wheel as they skidded on dry-baked hard-pack, stone and torn up macadam.

"No - wait! Stop, stop, stop! I saw something!" Steve shouted breathlessly as he searched for another glimpse of movement. He'd caught the bare hint of _something_ , shadowed and then shielded by crumbling brick, briefly re-appearing only to disappear an annoying moment later. Steve virtually held his breath, his hand frantically tapping out his impatience on the door handle to his truck while his eyes searched where the shape might next come into view.

"There!" Steve pointed next to the opposite side of a weather-worn chainlink fence. His fingers scrabbled for the handle, the tug firm and a foot out the door before he'd finished the sentence. "It's him … it is … it's Danny!"

"Steve! Wait!" Chin cursed as he slammed harder on the brakes as the truck slid and bucked on the rough ground.

But Steve was already gone. He was out of the truck before it had even come to its final dust-clouded halt on the ruined pavement, frantically searching for a hole in the rusted-ruined length of broken metal.

"Danny! _Danny_!" Moments later, Steve was forcing himself through a rough opening and running awkwardly towards the hunched figure, calling Danny's name repeatedly as he closed the distance.

Danny stumbled, teetering in the heat with his head cocked to listen dumbly down the wide swath of concrete. His throat ached and an intense struggle to breathe worsened his ability to inhale as swelling further compressed his windpipe, exacerbated by the thick heat of the afternoon and his need to keep moving. Shade was limited and he'd been sticking to the hard-packed ground as much as possible to avoid the hotter portions as best he could. Gravel and rocks poked his bare feet, compounded by the indescribable graveled furnace leaking up through the bits of broken pavement.

He stopped, listing off-balance in a small patch of pebbly dirt as he listened again. He thought he'd heard his name, confirmed when his eyes zeroed in on a hazy distant shape. But he couldn't quite make it out for the heat waves which rippled up to further confuse his still swimming vision. He blinked repeatedly, now on guard and his anxiety spiking, wondering if he'd walked right back into danger, when he finally recognized the dark hair and familiar silhouette. The new issue then, was combatting his utter disbelief.

"Danny!" Steve's voice reached him with more clarity as he ran closer, stumbling and weaving over the uneven ground. Painfully dodging obstructions or clambering though another broken pit of wire or fencing, yet always calling out his name or orders which he didn't quite comprehend. "Stay there - don't move - I'm coming to you!"

Dumbstruck, Danny's brain momentarily backfired and it took him a long moment to trust that the heat-soaked shimmering form was indeed … _Steve_. He didn't quite believe it though because Steve - here - simply didn't make sense. Yet, there his friend was racing towards him; a blurred, glimmer of shifting light and sound. Within each shout, what he finally heard then, too, was the indescribable relief which laced his friend's tone just in the mere utterance of a few desperate words.

" _Steve_?" Danny mouthed his incredulity as he shuffled forward again. The timid movement of his jaw sent a ripple of pain though his throat and neck, and Danny whined in frustration. His brain was switching off and he certainly mistrusted his eyes, because he couldn't quite believe this potentially drug-induced vision was real. Nonetheless, he couldn't stop looking and squinting through teary eyes, mesmerized by the sight of his best friend in an ungainly flat-out run towards him. When he was more sure though, Danny swayed dizzily in response, his legs wanting to betray him as he blearily tried to focus on Steve's anxious face.

" _St_ … ?" Danny rasped in bewilderment at the same time Steve reached him to head off his slow progress. His arms were grabbed first, hard around his biceps and with such an intensity, Danny's knees nearly buckled. But then, those same hands changed direction to fly upwards, to cup his face and gingerly tilt his head. But the gesture hurt his neck and brought his gaze into the brightness of the Hawaiian sunlight and Danny mewled in pain, his eyes closing as his limited breathing hitched and his legs finally gave out.

"Easy, easy ...I'm here ... thank _God_ ... I wasn't sure," Steve whispered urgently as he brought Danny protectively into his side, aiding in the downwards slide to the hot pavement. He kept him close, multitasking as he mentally recorded the volume of Danny's stress combined with his very evident weakness. His partner was a veritable disaster; there wasn't a single portion of him untouched by blood or gore; or sweat or layers of just plain dirt. And he stunk to high heaven. All of which only meant that he was real ... that Steve had finally found him.

"God, Danny, you're a mess," Steve muttered under his breath as he gently palmed lank hair away from his friend's face. He ignored the myriad of rank odors for the sheer luxury of just being able to feel Danny, protect him, and vow that he was finally safe. Finally home. Simultaneously though, Steve kept his eyes open to search their general vicinity for any signs of Walker. If he saw even a glimpse of the man, he'd kill him without needing to consider any other option.

"Where is he, buddy?" Steve asked softly, his tone deadly, over the top of Danny's head as Chin ran over to join them, the truck left behind due to the confusing hodgepodge of old alleys and roads. Shotgun in hand, he too, was staying low and on guard. Steve duly noted the diligent care and the conflicted anger blatantly showing in the Asian's face, but Danny was his priority and he wanted everything at once. Watchful and worried, he was helpless to stop his jumble of inane questions as he clutched his friend within the protective cover of his own broken body.

"Where is he ... what happened? Where's Walker?" Steve pushed, upset enough to change course when he didn't receive an answer, his fingers now flying back to his friend's heated, flushed face. "Danny? Danny ... where are you hurt? Talk to me."

But whether he could or couldn't due to the damage to his neck or something worse, Danny wasn't speaking as he folded himself into his partner, hiding his face in the crook of Steve's shoulder. The fingers of his left hand wended their way into the hem of Steve's shirt as if the very fabric might provide some form of sanity. His right hand sought purchase on the side of Steve's tac-vest, fighting and gaining a hold on a piece of sturdy velcro where he hung on for dear life. He didn't care about the heat steaming into his feet or into one side of his body. He didn't care about a single thing except for Steve's solid proof of existence as he completely and utterly entrusted himself over to his best friend with a bone-weary heaviness. Though he knew Steve's voice as it hummed through his head, he wasn't even listening to the words anymore as he closed his eyes and his mind to whatever was happening around him. Seeking the familiarity of Steve's strength and the trust in finally having reached safety, he simply hung on before he began to shut down.

"All right, it's okay. It's over. It's over and I got you ... I got you, Danny. I promise," Steve reassured softly, his eyes mirroring the concern he saw in Chin's as Danny literally wrapped himself around his torso and then sank more deeply into his arms.

"We have to get him out of here," Steve said. "But I want Walker." He glared around them and quickly discounted his angry urge for action. Despite Chin's skills, he wouldn't send him forward to search the area for Walker without backup. The fugitive was much too lethal in his abilities. Nor though, would he ever consider leaving Danny.

"How bad?" Chin asked. "How badly is he hurt?" He knelt down next to them, ever vigilant, his gun out and primed should it be needed. He ran one hand soothingly over Danny's exposed shoulder, grimacing unhappily for the heat emanating from his friend.

"I'm not sure. He hasn't said a word … and I don't know why. Bring the truck as close as you can and then help me get him into it," Steve ordered as his partner clung even tighter to him. It was apparent that Danny wasn't faring well; at minimum, there were concerns about dehydration, exhaustion, the forceable use of unnamed drugs and what might lay under the bruises and layers of grime. Based solely on the state of Spenser McCann, he could easily guess what had happened - or God help him - maybe only what had nearly happened inside the penthouse. They'd born witness to the aftermath of a crime of passion in which Danny had been the unfortunate center of attention, something which he'd continued to bear the brunt of while under the 2IC's manic control.

Danny was incredibly alive though and Steve's head whirled with every possible injury or abuse imaginable, desperately trying not to focus on those things they couldn't readily see. Unmentionable _things_ which frightened him the most to possibly cause his friend to completely withdraw.

"One step at a time," Steve said softly to Chin, his hands running gently over Danny's shoulders. "He's alive ... and finally safe. HPD's on the way and we'll worry about Walker when they get on site ... we do that after we take care of Danny; he's the priority right now. Nothing else - no one else. We're out in the open and I want him off this street ... get EMS here; then we deal with Walker or what's left of him."

"Two minutes," Chin promised, keeping an astute eye towards any hidden dangers as he rapidly jogged off to retrieve the truck to bring it parallel to their location.

"Can you stand?" Steve asked as he carefully shifted Danny higher in his arms, knowing the answer before his friend might decide to say something because he was much too quiet. He could similarly feel the hard physical crash when it descended in earnest. He literally _felt_ it when Danny's right hand slipped off his tac-vest, falling to the hard-packed ground.

"Danno? Come on, come on, Danny," Steve muttered as he gently repositioned him. But Danny was limp now, his head lolling under his chin, eyes closed and mouth partly opened. His breathing sounded funny to Steve, strained and tight. As he inhaled around a soft whistling noise, Steve saw the bruises and swelling beginning to thicken around Danny's throat.

"God damnit," Steve cursed softly while he ghosted his fingers over the damaged skin, searching for more unseen injuries through too many layers of filth. Danny's initial silence made sense now, as did the slurred inhale of each short pant of air. But conscious had taken a disturbing turn towards unresponsive and Steve's heart raced in fear when he saw the extent of the bruising.

"Danny? Hey, come on buddy," Steve muttered, his fear growing all over again as he realized Danny's airway might very well have been compromised by Walker's obvious attempt at strangulation. He cradled Danny backwards into the pillow of his left arm and freed his right, Danny's head lolling backwards to face the blue sky while his hand finished a hurried but thorough exam. Steve's eyes were dark with worry as he skimmed over the fresh blood smeared across Danny's ruined t-shirt. A shirt which was nearly split in half to expose more bloody streaks across his chest, his subsequent relief nearly audible as he found no signs of any obvious wounds until he moved more of the shirt aside.

"Jesus," Steve muttered in confusion at the strange string of blood-scabbed marks which formed a half-moon of sorts along Danny's neck and collarbone. "What the fuck did they do to you?" Almost all the nasty marks were oozing from infection, but some were deeper than others and delineated by equally spaced dents in Danny's skin. He blinked in abject denial as a certain realization dawned, bile rising in his throat when he tentatively smoothed some of the dirt away. Steve had no way of knowing if the bite marks were caused by McCann or Walker, but that barely mattered.

Silently, Steve tweaked the flap of the ruined t-shirt back in place to briefly cover the series of wounds. His own breath caught in his throat as he fought an emotional roller coaster and could only stare down into Danny's colorless face.

"Where the hell is he, Danno?" Steve groused softly, his question more of a deathly warning than true query. His resurgence of anger was strong and he glanced up for a moment, eyes narrowed dangerously as he once again searched the closest of the most dark recesses. How he'd found Danny only meant that Walker was close. Potentially too close based on the freshness of the blood and gore streaked across his t-shirt. Danny's condition left Steve entirely uncertain if his partner truly had completely dispatched the dangerous killer and in that doubt, the hair stood up on the nape of his neck.

"One thing at a time," Steve warned himself under his breath as he heard his truck's engine pulling closer. Under him, Danny's breathing altered again to become even more of a rough wheeze. He had ample medical supplies to manage a basic triage, including emergency oxygen but Danny's condition was worsening with every passing second. He wildly signaled to Chin to bring the gear as the older man hurriedly slid from the driver's seat.

"Let's get you home, Danno," Steve soothed, yet another leery glance given the long nearly haunted streets of the old factory-like setting. Even in daylight, it held an eerie feel.

He was certain that something was wrong though; positive that they not dare put their guard down until Walker was located and permanently out of commission. In the distance he was relieved to hear the sound of multiple sirens, too. He listened and registered everyone's arrival, but Steve's eyes never left his surroundings as he stayed crouched protectively over Danny's quiet body, one hand now on his sidearm. Safety off and ready.

However, he never had a chance to do a single thing as a terrible force broad-sided him from the left. The accompanying growl was thick and full of hatred. It sounded guttural in Steve's left ear as he was heavily rolled and forcibly separated from Danny's lax body. Something snapped inside of Steve, deep within his core, yielding a hot dampness which circumvented the already heated sweat under his tac-vest. The resultant pain through his abdomen was excruciatingly sharp, debilitating, and he momentarily whited out until his rage resurfaced.

 _Walker_. Steve grunted in alarm, suddenly stranded on his back, legs splayed and refusing to react to his commands from the shock of the unexpected hit. For some unknown reason the voice of his old football coach echoed in his head.

_'All-star quarterback my ass! Get up, McGarrett! What the hell was that!? You get rolled like some junior varsity dweeb cheerleader!? Get off that lazy ass of yours!'_

He'd been sacked. He'd been bowled over clear off his feet except this time by a freight train of a man. Still, aside for the blood leaking out from his barely healed wound, the stunning feeling nearly mimicked that down to his current state of mind-numbing breathlessness. But there was no sympathy and certainly there'd be no respite.

_'Shake it off, McGarrett, or you're outta here!"_

Steve growled in kind then, his hands fisting to finally come up and connect with the crazed man's cheekbone as he rolled agilely to his feet. It was a sloppy hit though. Rushed, it truly lacking his usual sense of timing and strength. Walker almost chuckled in response and Steve felt a surge of adrenalin. He needed to shake it off and get his ass up and moving.

"What the fuck are you laughing at Walker?" Steve ground out as he willed himself to get with the program. Crouched low and aggressively he sized up his adversary. He forced his eyes to focus and saw the deep dent along the skull and winced in simple reaction for the bits of scalp and hair which were mixed with the stream of blood that continued to soak into Walker's shirt. Once again, Danny had done well, but not well enough and Steve knew he'd be finishing the job.

Gladly. _Happily_ in fact, as Walker's baritone sickly laugh reached his ears again.

Eyes narrowed to meet the challenge, Steve hit Walker full on, this time purposefully aiming for the section of splintered skull. He connected hard and true but Walker merely rocked in place. He didn't fall completely; Walker didn't even seem to register the blow. In fact, the man didn't do a blessed thing except curl his lips into a sickly smile before rushing back in to entwine stained fingers around Steve's throat.

"I came in to this world kicking and screaming and covered in someone else's blood and I have _zero_ issues with leaving the same way, fucker!" Walker laughed in glee as he swiped Steve successfully off his feet and leaned in for the kill.

Steve gurgled at the unexpected show of strength as their battle escalated into a grappling match. While on his back, he turned his head just enough to be sure. Off to the side, Danny was laying on his back, eyes closed, head tilted upwards and towards the sun. He was unmoving and sprawled lifelessly on the broken pavement.

But when Steve glanced over, he realized that Dylan had followed his gaze, the leer obvious and it was all more than enough impetus as the man began to ... _laugh_. His fingers loosened every so subtle at the distraction and Steve reacted then with years of built in, honed instincts. The fingers of his left hand lurched downwards to his lower leg with a smoothness which belied his current struggle. He grasped the hilt of his blade and pulled it free with a soft desirous snarl, ready to strike until a black shadow crossed his vision and Walker was torn from his grasp.

"Get off him!" Chin roared as he literally catapulted himself bodily into Dylan. The two crashed sideways, away from Danny, away from Steve, with Chin taking them even farther by intentionally rolling Dylan in their violent tumble.

Knife firmly in hand, Steve wasn't even thinking by then as he rejoined the fray. Chin's attack had freed him for an even better vantage and Steve's fury had him a near equal to Dylan Walker's own sense of blood lust. However, there was a distinct difference between the two. Dylan Walker was in an uncontrollable rage and Steve was anything but as he closed in for the kill. He saw Chin and even heard his voice, yet each of Steve's moves was a pre-programmed dance of death which ended when Dylan had the blade of Steve's knife embedded deeply in his chest.

"He's alive you know," Steve hissed sharply an inch above Dylan's nose. "McCann. He's alive ... you didn't know that did you."

Steve watched the change with his own sense of satisfaction. The shift from rage to an eventual bewilderment as Dylan's blood-stained lips opened as if to speak. His brow furrowed deeply, fluctuating between pain and confusion. Steve smiled and then nodded to force his message home.

"He thinks you left him. He believes that you forgot about him," Steve nastily added as he leaned heavily on his knife. "You'll see him again in Hell though. Soon."

As far as he was concerned, there would only be one final method to end the madness and he'd no intention of doing anything else. The last thing which Steve did do so very purposefully was add the final twist of the sharp metal to rip and rend the unseen.

"Steve!" Chin's eyes were huge as he watched the knife plunge deeply into Walker's body, followed by the escape of a large bubble of blood. He saw the strong fingers briefly loosen but only for a millisecond as they gained a better hold on the knife before they moved for the last time. "Steve!" Chin's shout was useless as Steve grunted just once with the effort. "Steve! _Don't_ …!"

It was too late though. Dylan's hands briefly sought Chin to then grapple around Steve's shoulders, from where the bulk of the attack now originated. Those hands then scrabbled awkwardly at his wrists before fighting the hilt of the large blade.

With a terrifying patience to complete the task at hand, Steve simply waited the dying man out still only inches above his nose while he twisted the blade a second time to eventually hasten what he so desperately craved. Steve stared into Dylan's eyes, a half-smile full of confidence continually shared his last message. _Spense was still alive. Dylan had been incredibly wrong._ There was an eventual sound - a wet snap somewhere inside the man's chest - and desperate fingers fell from the hilt. The disbelief on Dylan's face faded to a look of fear … and then the deranged killer was gone, his eyes glazing to stare lifelessly up at … _nothing_.

Without a word, Steve left his knife buried deeply inside the mercenary's chest. He left Chin, turning back to Danny instantly, crawling on his hands and knees to reach his side. Stunned that his friend wasn't moving while he sloppily lurched along, focused only on the odd bluish hue of Danny's lips. Steve couldn't speak if he'd wanted to as he willed his bloodied hands to work contrary to what they'd just orchestrated. He demanded that the other half of his ingrained training automatically kick in as he mentally ordered Chin to get more help.

Steve was beginning to shake as he willed himself not to look at the partly lidded eyes where just a sliver of dull blue gleamed. He _insisted_ that he not see the hands lying so limp and lifeless on the patchy ruined ground, palms up and fingers splayed wide-open. He could only demand that the training which would bring life back to the near-dead would find its way past the pain in his soul.

"I already called it in. What do we need?" Chin asked, pausing in his rush for Steve to offer a curt nod of understanding and demand. His eyes flickered over Danny's waxen face, nearly lifeless as Steve gently positioned his head for CPR. Steve would manage triage while he multi-tasked for backup and ran for supplies from the bed of the big pickup truck. "Oxygen. I'll be right back … emergency oxygen … med kit."

Entirely focused on Danny, Steve mewled deeply in his chest as he sought the thin patch of skin on Danny's wrist. Someone else's red-stained fingers found the weak pulse and celebrated it ever so briefly. But it was Steve who almost mindlessly cocked Danny's head back and parted his lips, inhaling deeply to begin mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. That low internal cry was the only sound he made for minutes on end as he breathed to his mental count over and over, praying that he wan't causing more damage to what lay beneath the bruised swelling. His eventual pause was out of personal necessity, yet he forced his fingers to find Danny's wrist to reconfirm the flutter of a pulse. He winced when he gently thumbed an eye-lid open. The blush of redness where there should be white only confirmed the broken blood vessels caused by Walker's hands.

"Please, Danny," Steve whispered breathlessly, his hand moving from wrist to splay wide across his friend's chest. Nothing he saw seemed to be free of blemish; from sweat-caked grime and dirt, to streaks of red made of his own and of Walker's bloody gore, Danny was a mess.

"Please, please, Danny," Steve chanted as he mindlessly rocked in place. "I'm sorry ... so sorry. We took too long. I took too long. But breathe, damn it. Just please keep on breathing." His other hand was indeed shaking badly now as he embraced the side of Danny's neck, tears filling his eyes as he accidentally touched the deep reddening prints which Dylan had left behind. Below them, the stunning array of purplish-reddish bite marks blended across one side of his collar bone and Steve felt his stomach churn again.

But he heard it then; with a start, Steve _heard_ the thin puff of air which whistled painfully out from Danny's slightly parted lips. His fingers strayed to Danny's temple while his eyes flew from lips to chest, finally _feeling_ the weak rise and fall of Danny's ribcage.

Before he knew it, Chin was back and assembling the emergency oxygen kit to affix the mask over Danny's nose and mouth. Steve held it in place, hands trembling as Chin thumbed the small tank on high, yet ready to continue CPR.

"He's breathing," Chin senselessly reconfirmed as Steve nodded faintly, his eyes focused solely on his partner's unresponsive face. "Pulse is thready … weak. But he _is_ breathing."

'Yeah," Steve murmured distractedly, his concern keeping him on edge despite his own pain which was starting to settle firmly into his abdomen in earnest. There was the threat of a wetness along his side, just under this tac-vest and he could guess what he'd done. However, he was far from being the primary concern as Danny's own struggle continued in his arms. "How long?"

"ETA is fifteen minutes," Chin said, referring to the ambulance and not the HPD units they already heard closing in on their location. Steve's face blanched in response and the two were of the same mind as they began to get to their feet. It was too long and they didn't have the luxury of time.

They couldn't afford to wait.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	26. Chapter 26

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

They got him into the truck because in the end, they couldn't afford to wait such an unreasonably long amount of time. Chin knelt on the rear seat as he gently pulled and lifted Danny's upper body into place while Steve managed his legs. He held Danny there until Steve rounded the bed of the big truck, one hand leaving smears of blood and dirt along its length as Steve used the solid metal for balance.

Ignoring the concerned look for himself, Steve changed places with Chin. He also ignored the feeling of breathlessness and the sticky dampness under his tac-vest while he squirmed his body under Danny's. He lifted once more, a soft grunt the only permission he allowed his own escalating pain to show. When Chin closed the door, Steve leaned back, closed his eyes and braced Danny's upper body against his chest, the oxygen tank on the floor boards and one arm tightly wended around his friend to hold him still.

Through heavily-lidded eyes, Steve vaguely watched as Chin jogged to the opposite side to make sure Danny's legs were well inside the vehicle and then the door was slammed shut. He was still itching to move, his brain mulishly multitasking and on high alert. But his body was resenting even the smallest of requests now. Sharp pains trickled endlessly from his abdomen and into his lower back. Steve simply hurt from stem to stern; each rut and bump jarring as they left the old complex and HPD descended en masse.

Still, they didn't speak to each other as the air conditioner was thumbed on high to displace the heat inside the truck. Chin began to spout demands to the authorities arriving at the scene while Steve focused on keeping Danny as still as possible because their own personal goal was simple now: fifteen minutes was indeed much too long to wait. Their new objective was to at least cut the time in half and meet the ambulance half way on the main highway.

Danny roused briefly, feeling the coolness of the air first and almost panicked. He shivered reflexively and moaned, a thick ache flaring inside his throat. The sense of panic increased as an arm was readjusted, a hand trying to soothe ran its length from shoulder to elbow. Something flooded his nostrils with the clean pureness of oxygen and yet, an immovable iron band lay sturdily across his chest.

His logic was simple: Spense had simply found another way to terrorize him. The soft murmur he could feel through the back of his shoulders was different though. Familiar. Non-threatening. These cues conflicted and he found himself torn on how to react inside a body that was terribly depleted. It was hard to breathe and he thought that he should remember why. There would be a reason - a frightening reason - and Dylan's dark face flickered in his mind's eye.

He thought he should be _dead_ and yet he was still breathing despite the painful ring of swelling around his neck. But it was cold - he was so very cold and that feeling brought Spense back as he dismally recognized the familiar air-conditioning which countered a recent smothering heat he'd been - _walking through?_ Unable to remember, Danny fought his rising sense of panic all over again. His feet were cold; his arms were cold and he trembled uncontrollably from both fever and fear. Illogical thoughts of Spense morphed into believing he was back either with him in the penthouse or with Dylan by some horrific method.

Danny softly moaned as the vehicle he was in connected with an especially deep pothole. There was a pained hiss above his head and his face contorted in discomfort as his breathing hitched. An urgent vibration of sound emanated through his shoulders in response and he was gently maneuvered to a slightly more comfortable position which eased his breathing. The oxygen mask was adjusted too and rough fingers cradled his temple. _Familiar_. Non-threatening and he began to remember.

Some things had improved and Steve's name came to a tired mind. Nonetheless, Danny didn't wish to look. He'd dreamt Steve's heat-riddled silhouette after all. He'd made up the hallucination in an exhausted state of despair. So he didn't want to know or prove to himself that he was in the back of Dylan's SUV on their way to the dry-docked tanker as the severe jouncing stopped and the vehicle he was trapped in increased its speed when it hit a well-paved road. Another visit to the blackness of his special room would indeed kill him this time.

Regardless of what he thought he believed or knew, Danny eventually opened his eyes. He saw his own feet first, lax and bare; covered in dirt, they simply shuddered limply along concomitant with the vehicle's motion. But things were indeed different as he stared hazily at the opposite rear window and watched the sliver of brightness streak by at a rapid pace.

 _Sirens_. The noise was almost deafening. How could he have missed that until now?

He hadn't been listening hard enough which was a startling realization. Or perhaps, he hadn't been able to hear before that moment. Lacking the strength to move more than his eyes, Danny turned his gaze closer to the blurry band which lay across his chest. Dark, tanned skin as filthy as his own held him close. His left wrist was being held firmly in place, too. Most likely to avoid an ungainly flop to the open space between bench seat and main cabin. Danny's eyes flickered to his feet again and then lazily to the back of the truck's bucket seats.

He recognized the interior then and tried to swallow hard as his throat picked the wrong time to tighten even more, managing only a dry wheeze.

_Steve's pickup truck._

Under the oxygen mask, Danny's lips twitched. He couldn't speak and could scarcely make the softest of sounds. He blinked hard at the outline of his own thumb, forcing it to move and achieve the tiniest shift, a slip of a finger which he repeated until another also decided to cooperate. Then, he weakly rapped against the only tanned finger he could reach, ignoring the disturbing freshness of a blood stain in lieu of sending a message. The reward he gained was instantaneous.

"Danny?" The voice above his head was full of a sincere hope and a deep concern as his hand was gently squeezed in kind. Danny felt himself ever so slightly shifted, his upper body carefully repositioned until their eyes could meet. He blinked a few more times before knitting his brow in confusion, Steve's careful smile was ruined by the fear he also communicated. Worried by the look, Danny wanted to tell him he was fine though it would be a downright lie. He wanted to say that _nothing had happened_ almost in a knee-jerk polite sort of way despite knowing that too, would be a lie.

His mouth moved again under the oxygen mask. Desperate to talk, Danny winced because the simplest action of moving his jaw sent an acute, knife-like pain through his neck.

"Don't try to say anything," Steve murmured over his head quickly. "You're safe ... we're here ... Chin ... me. It's over. Just rest, Danny."

Danny winced through a poor attempt at merely nodding. The oxygen was helping, but he knew he was in trouble as he vainly tried to fill his lungs more deeply. It hurt, his vision sparkled dangerously around the edges, and he felt like he was drowning above water. He heard himself then - he _heard_ the sharp whine and wheeze as his lungs argued their ability to inhale.

His mouth formed a single word - ' _help_ ' - and his eyes closed tightly against the unbidden flux of tears as his breathing faltered and he scarcely managed a sharp cough.

 _Upside down Steve_ and a plea to simply breathe were the last things Danny knew as his eyes slowly slid closed, a tear lost down one cheek. He was still afraid and confused. He was still in trouble, but there was a comforting strength that he latched onto as his friend's hands grasped his own and a familiar voice offered a constant murmur of reassurance.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	27. Chapter 27

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Chin?" Steve desperately called out as Danny's breathing noisily took another turn. He pressed his fingers firmly into his friend's carotid artery while literally watching Danny's lips change to a worsening bluish tinge. "Chin ... his breathing ... where's that damned ambulance? We need to ... get Danny ... better help."

Increasing his speed at the fear held within the stammered words, Chin glanced quickly in the rearview mirror, stunned to see how ashen Steve's complexion had now become. A real physical pain had broken through his purposeful façade since finding Danny and the abuse to his healing body had seemingly caught up with a vengeance, leaving Chin with two men requiring urgent medical attention.

"Don't need 'em," Chin announced almost angrily as he accelerated through traffic. "Hang on ... we're less than five minutes out."

Stopping to transfer one critically injured patient would take too much time; having two was beyond sensible reason. Chin simply couldn't afford the risk. Steve rocked the back of his head against the window and cursed under his breath. He opened his mouth to object, a short intake of air forestalled when Chin interrupted him vociferously.

"No! Don't even try to weasel your way out of this one!" Chin's tone was full of stress as he skillfully piloted the big truck towards the hospital. Their eyes briefly met in the rearview and Steve was startled by the man's unprecedented show of emotions. "You look like _shit_ and I know at _minimum_ you've torn stitches, probably worse … in fact, judging by the color of you right now, I'm guessing a _lot_ worse. God, Steve, Walker blind-sided you like you were _nothing_. You went down like a sack of shit … and you didn't get up. You know what that was like to watch?"

"I …"

"No, Steve. You don't get to do this. Not now. I let you out there. _I_ did. It was my call to let you come with me and you didn't. Get. Up."

Steve's mouth opened and snapped shut just as quickly as his friend glared at him through the mirror.

"You were my responsibility and I knew you were running on empty before we even started and then that psychotic freight train put you down - hard - and for one disgustingly long minute I thought I had no one to have my back …"

"Chin, I'm ..." Steve's objection was interrupted by a rude finger which flashed warningly through the air and Steve almost smiled. The gesture was so much like _Danny_ it was nearly heartbreaking.

" _Not_ fine!" Chin ground out. "And yes, I do know that you'll always have my back, Steve. Just _please_ , for _once_ in your life consider that it shouldn't be at the expense of yours."

Steve sagged his head in weary defeat. His friend was right and he well knew it.

"We've got him back, Steve. We're not willing to lose you in the process, so just … shut up and do as you're told."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"He never regained consciousness after that time in the truck," Chin said. "He was barely breathing and they intubated him before he could go further into respiratory distress. I haven't been allowed to see him yet. This time, Walker really did nearly strangle him to death and his throat is ... damaged ... swollen. He was having trouble breathing and the doctors were afraid it would continue to get worse. They intubated him and put him on a ventilator ... just in case. It's too early for his blood tests to come back yet. I can't imagine any of them will be good though."

"Oh my God," Kono whispered. She'd rushed back from a possible secondary location after receiving her cousins' anxious call. Her initial relief was fading fast the more she listened to his frightening update. Danny was back, but nothing sounded truly good about his condition, compounded by Chin's dour expression and the obvious lack of one key person.

"Steve?" His name said as a question was voiced hesitantly. "Where is he? Is he with Danny or the doctors?" If Chin hadn't been allowed to see Danny, she doubted that her boss had much luck.

"Yeah, Steve. No. No, he's not." Chin winced as if in pain, shaking his head to communicate his ongoing worry and frustration. "He pushed too hard and then we … _he_ … got into it with Walker. I think he'll need surgery with what I've been told so far; internal stitches ripped and a blood vessel was ruptured. He's being evaluated by the surgeons but there's definitely blood in his belly. Regardless of what his prognosis is, there's no way he's going anywhere either."

"What the hell happened out there?" Kono asked incredulously as she sat down with a weary thump.

"Dylan Walker happened," Chin chuffed disgustedly under his breath. "I'd gone for the truck while Steve stayed with Danny. I'd barely turned my back when Walker came out of nowhere and bowled Steve right over. He hit him broadside and took him down. Hard."

Kono didn't know what to say as her cousin's voice ebbed away and he stared at his hands. But then he started up again after a cleansing deep inhale. His proud smile failed though.

"Steve killed him. I've never seen him like that … so focused … so incredibly … _lethal_ ," Chin said. He made another weird sound under his breath, another head shake combined a stunned admiration with a sense of awe, and possibly just a hint of fear. "He just … flipped this switch. He was cold, ruthless. _Unstoppable_. And when it was _done_ … something else clicked again and Steve was … _back_."

"Okay," Kono eventually whispered. She thought that she might have a sense about what her cousin witnessed. Yet she had nothing of value to add; at one time or another, they'd all seen certain inherent … skills … which Steve sometimes seemed to pull from a hat.

"McCann's in the intensive care unit," she offered instead. "We need to keep our people away from him. I'll talk to the staff to get him moved and double the detail. Just in case. And Chin, Fong's been feeding me info as it becomes available. The penthouse is a cesspool of evidence. Danny's prints - McCann - a host of others, are all over the damned place. He says the prints on the scissors are Danny's. He used them … the scissors … as a weapon … I'm guessing to protect himself."

That of course was what they'd all guess and Kono swallowed hard at the gruesome injuries caused by her friend's apparent desperation. She was skirting the most important question though. The one that terrified them the most, but it was too early to know. There in the hospital, Danny's clothes - or what remained of them - would be bagged and tagged as well. They would be sent to the lab for Fong's team to process, as evidence mounted against Spenser McCann. All of it would be completely unnecessary on one level, yet terribly pertinent on another.

"Chin." She couldn't help the rise of tears which flooded her eyes. "McCann. That bastard's messed up good and should have died. He should be dead now … they don't think he'll survive, but …"

"But he's alive _now_ ," Chin sneered in disgust.

"Yeah, he is," Kono whispered, her final question open-ended and the details left hanging in the air. "And Fong's still at the … crime scene … he's got evidence all over that damned penthouse. Chin?"

Her eyes suddenly glinted with tears as she demanded Chin look directly into her face. No one knew the real answer yet and she was definitely afraid to ask. But Chin easily guessed her questions and shrugged helplessly.

"Don't forget we've got a second crime scene now, too. But no ... it's going to take time for the doctors here to even clean him up," Chin muttered. He couldn't even begin to describe to Kono how Danny simply _looked_. Barely recognizable under layers of grime, Chin knew exactly what each next careful step would need to be, beginning with just keeping him alive.

"He's on a vent, Kono. He has ... a fever. Let's start there." Chin winced at his memory of the infected _human_ bite marks along Danny's neck. He closed his eyes in remorse and anger. There was a veritable team of doctors slaving over his friend at that very moment. Anything else - finding out more about what had really happened - would take an inordinate amount of patience and time. But he had no answers. None of them had any _answers_ , but they'd come.

Chin took Kono's hand in his. Her fingers were incredibly slender and clean, and for a long moment, he just stared at them. His next words came on a soft, weary exhale. "God help us … we'll know everything that bastard did to Danny … soon enough."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	28. Chapter 28

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny lay in a fugue. Partly self-induced, he was sure that this vague state of being was far safer than attempting to truly wake. The odd thing of it was, he knew he was in the hospital. He knew that his team would be there; especially Steve.

_Always Steve._

Yet, he didn't want to surface … he couldn't surface and open his eyes quite yet even though he heard the impatient shuffle of booted feet, followed by a similarly voiced sigh. It was the first time he was more aware and while he should have been relieved, that wasn't good either. It only meant that he had to face his demons. He tried to focus since he felt Steve nearby. If he tried hard enough, he could almost see him in his mind's eye, standing guard with his hands planted on his hips, an air of authoritative anger oozing from his pores. Impatient and over-bearing as he made demands. Danny needed to envision that since Dylan lurked so closely just off-center, but no matter what he tried, it simply didn't work.

Dylan. The struggle he should have lost. The lurid game played just _before_ ... Walker's _glee_ as he began to torture him.

 _"Spense likes to pet ... touch ... gentle strokes,"_ Danny remembered the rank smell of Walker's breath on his face. He remembered thinking that Walker kept referring to Spense in the present tense. He remembered believing it very strange. _"You might miss him eventually - now that you have me."_

As his sense of unease grew, Danny tried to refocus on Steve, but Walker won out in the end. Unable to put a halt to an obsessed mind, Danny got stuck before being fully able to wake. He'd been brought to the concrete ground during a sadistic game of cat and mouse after being released from his walled prison. He'd tried to fight and then he'd simply tried to run, but he was far too weak. He'd only managed to feed Walker's penchant for torture.

Danny remembered gagging, struggling to breathe. His air supply cut off by the mercenary's strong hands as he initiated a series of breath play _games_. Just as he'd begun to lose consciousness, the fingers would disappear and Dylan would paw at him or grind his pelvis into his in a ruthless perversion. Fully clothed, he was hard and panting, but not yet ready. Dylan liked to prolong not only the torture, but also test his own will.

Danny moaned under his breath without realizing it. His state of partial awareness was of more detriment as broken shards of memories trickled through his mind.

"He's ... dreaming?" Steve murmured worriedly to the doctor as Danny's face contorted uncomfortably. He stared at his friend, unable to rationalize how he looked when he found him to the way he appeared now. Clean, hair shiny yet so downy soft, dressed in a simple white gown with weird blue dots. So much was still so very wrong.

Steve touched the back of his friend's hand with his fingertips, disappointed in the dry heat which still flowed off his skin. An IV ran nonstop into the central line in his neck. A neck which had already seen so much abuse it almost seemed cruel, in spite of the necessity. The IV pumps delivered a combination of hydration, electrolytes and antibiotics on a constant cycle, but the staph infection was stubborn and his fever still high. Various bruises and abrasions covered Danny's face, his arms, and torso. Simple scrapes on his hands, elbows and knees had appeared once the grime and filth had been studiously removed. A splint remained firmly in place around his forearm. Steve's heart had broken further at hearing how his friend had literally cried at the simple turn of his arm to secure an IV on arrival. While x-rays had been inconclusive and a CT revealed little, until he was fully awake and engaged, his medical team had chosen to err on the side of caution. The bite marks ... the crazy half circle of _human bite marks_ ... were dressed, but still oozed at times as they began to scab over and heal. Too much was still incredibly wrong.

"Danny?" Steve ignored the doctor as Danny cringed away, a dream or nightmare worrying his mind. "Danny ... open your eyes. Come on, buddy. Just for a few minutes."

Danny heard the soft call of his name and found he couldn't entirely wake up. He didn't feel well and so he tried harder to at least envision Steve standing over his head. Indomitable. Annoyed and demanding that he open his eyes. This time, he would be wrong though. Steve was closer to his side, simply looking at him with a mounting concern as the doctors argued his medical case and offered reasons for his continued lethargy. And his hands were not on his hips. Instead, he was hunched uncomfortably, one arm pressed against his side as he dealt with the painful aftermath of not entirely having followed doctor's orders to their strict letter.

In fact, the good physician in question was barely able to focus on the downed detective with the Commander wavering so unsteadily in front of him, wheelchair discarded nearby. By now though, he knew better than to voice his medical opinion; at least where it concerned Five-0's stalwart leader. Even if the two friends were in the very same high dependency unit.

"He's coming out of it, but he's still very weak, Commander," the doctor said, joining the distraught officer by his patient's bedside. He fought the urge to grab the man's elbow by shoving his hands even more deeply into the pockets of his white lab coat. "The staphylococcus infection from ... from the occlusive bites ... is well-established and even though he's on an aggressive antibiotic regimen, he's still fighting it. Plus the drugs he was subjected to certainly haven't helped; nor the stress he's been under. Removing the vent is an excellent initial step, but he needs a lot more time."

"He should have at least opened his eyes," Steve whispered, his own eyes shining brightly from exhaustion and worry. He easily caught the doctor's concerned pause over the painful bite marks on Danny's neck and collarbone. They still weren't sure which man had subjected Danny to such an attack - McCann or Walker - but they'd become purulent, badly infected. "I understand that he's going to have trouble speaking, but he should have done something by now. Anything."

The doctor stared at the man's slightly shadowed profile. Even in poor light, it was too easy to see the grief and even self-blame, though the man had, at one time and not so long ago, been so badly injured himself. From being frantic to escape the confines of the medical facility in order to bring his partner to safety, he now only remained under a thickening black of cloud of stress. Regardless, there was nothing for the doctor to say or do because they'd done all they could and the waiting game was evidently meant to continue.

"He's fighting the fever and his body needs rest to recover." Trying to offer some soothing words, the doctor dared to put a gentle hand on the commander's shoulder. He continued speaking when his kindness was accepted. "Give him some more time. And while you're at it, give yourself a well-deserved break and get off your feet, too. Please. You can't be feeling well this soon after major surgery."

"Yeah, all right," Steve muttered unhappily, his eyes never leaving his partner's wan complexion or oftentimes anxious expression. He'd earned another go under the knife just two days earlier. Two very long days where he'd first learned that his partner had been placed on a ventilator. Then the mixed bag of news had kept coming as if a flood-gate had been opened. Steve sighed as he turned and regained the wheelchair. A forced bedridden state wasn't something he could manage right then. He wanted to be in front of Danny when he woke to offset any potential confusion.

"I'll sit here, Doc," Steve said as he rolled back to the bedside. "At least for a little while." Then, chin pillowed in hand, he continued his wait.

Hours later, Danny's eyes simply snapped open. He blinked once, then twice as a frown took over his face. For a moment after dreaming of Spenser, he'd expected to see light colored blinds waving amongst muted light with broken bits of blue just beyond. But the sight of a plain hospital room quickly provided the real truth. And despite where he now was, in some ways it had been safer to stay in the half-waking plane of existence. Certainly it had been less painful than this reality.

For one, he could barely turn his head for the torque on his neck. A subtle shift told him that fact quickly enough as a deep ache settled in his throat, shoulders and throughout the muscles in his neck. He felt terribly ill and sensed he was feverish and just not right with the world. But to aid in his breathing, humidified oxygen circulated over his nose and mouth, and the head of the bed was elevated allowing him to see the bulk of the room. To his right, in the dim light from the hallway and though his eyes didn't entirely cooperate, he easily recognized Steve's bowed head as the man dozed in a chair. Only two feet away, his arms were crossed tightly over his chest as he lightly snored.

Danny blinked again, tears threatening almost immediately when he understood what he was seeing. Steve was wearing hospital blue and white. He wasn't sitting in just a chair either, but a wheelchair and likely shouldn't have been out of his own hospital bed … likely the one with rumpled sheets in the far corner of the room. Even in rest, Steve's face was tense with pain and fatigue. Nonetheless, Steve had his back. Always did - and always would - even if he had to battle the worst of odds to do it, including the apparent dangers of his own injuries.

By instinct, Danny knew better than to try to speak. Besides the pain he'd cause himself, the weakness in his voice would never go beyond the restrictive oxygen mask. So he remained quiet and simply waited for Steve to feel the shift of energy in the room, subtle as it may have been.

Steve breathed in deeply, his arms rising and the feeling waking him with a snuffled cough which jarred his healing stomach muscles. Steve uttered a soft uncomfortable moan as his eyes opened to instantly fall on Danny's face. Their eyes met, one pair highlighting a frightened, feverish pain and the other momentarily stunned.

"Hey, hey Danny. _Danny_." The sheer relief and true fondness in Steve's voice spoke volumes as he slowly clambered to his feet. Dark and moody, his eyes were instantly telling as to how long he'd been there. _Just waiting for something to happen._

"You're finally awake … it's been hours … everyone's been so worried," Steve said softly. But he'd been worried more so than anyone, and he could now only revel in seeing Danny's eyes finally open. "Don't try to talk … you've been on a ventilator for a while. Your throat still needs time to recover. But do you need anything?" Steve winced at his own apparent stupidity, though the question was entirely fair.

"Fuck I don't know, just blink once ...I guess," he suggested at a loss of how best to communicate, searching Danny's eyes for an answer to his worst fears. He hesitated then, unsure of what he should do when nothing happened. Completely uncertain as to if he could dare go close enough to even touch his friend on his arm. But it was Danny who slowly lifted a trembling hand in askance, granting permission for Steve to scoop his fingers safely between his own.

" _Hurt_ ," Danny mouthed silently, a weak squeeze on Steve's hand the only method he could use to communicate his concern. His eyes flickered over Steve worriedly. " _You?_ "

"I'm fine. It's not so bad," Steve softly insisted. "Ice? For your throat?" His lips twitched briefly at the lie and instant deflection as if he might actually smile, but Steve simply couldn't bring himself to relax. Danny's eyes were unfocused, weirdly bloodshot and he was startlingly pale. Residual effects from the drugs pumped into his system were making his muscles tremor sporadically. Something which Steve could feel through his hand and it scared him.

"I'm sorry," Steve's own eyes welled with a dark glistening shine. "I'm so, _so_ sorry. We couldn't find you ... it was as if you'd vanished into thin air and ... _damn it_ ... you were right under our noses. You were here the entire time!"

Danny's mouth tightened to a thin pale line before his lips parted behind the mask, but they closed just as quickly for the warning ache in his jaw. He briefly closed his eyes, a tear escaping to roll down the side of his temple for a remembered pain and a fight he'd been so close to losing. He couldn't even shake his head to negate Steve's apology, so he settled on weakly squeezing his friend's fingers. Somewhere along the line, he'd been found. He'd been miraculously rescued.

 _Leon_. The thought came unbidden and Danny squeezed his eyes tightly shut again. _Leon_ had to have done … something … for him. Again and with no rhyme nor apparent reason. He was undoubtedly long gone now, as much as Dylan Walker had to be dead. He sensed it. He almost saw the truth in Steve's eyes. But _Spenser_ , he had no idea what had happened to _him_ and Danny's breath hitched painfully, his brow furrowing.

_Spense. What if he was still alive? Suppose he'd missed entirely ... and Spense was still alive?_

"Danny?" The concern thick in Steve's voice forced his eyes back open. Steve was no less than an inch from his nose, overwrought with worry and even fear. "Are you in pain, buddy? Is it your throat? Ice? Do you want to try to drink something?" He was holding a small white cup, a spoon tapping its icy contents into a watery slurry. Danny focused on the cup and Steve's brow furrowed in confusion at the instantaneous fear which flashed through his friend's eyes.

"Hey, … _what_? Danno? Tell me - squeeze my hand if you're hurting."

He must have been an open book for the look which Steve soon adopted as his voice trailed off and realization dawned brightly. Instead it was Steve who reacted first. Never getting a chance to budge or even try to explain himself, Danny's fingers were nearly twisted off his hand until he winced at the fierceness of the unrelenting pressure.

"What did he do?" Steve sharply whispered though a flux of anger. "This is just _water_ , Danny."

While unconscious, Danny had been examined from head to toe. A full and thorough sexual assault forensic examination. He'd been combed, swabbed and subjected to the taking of various samples and photographs. Being unconscious had almost been a blessing as he'd avoided being cognizant of the whole overly personalized process.

Afterwards, whatever Fong and his team had identified at the two crime scenes was cross-matched and validated. A variety of damning evidence had been confirmed on Danny's skin and clothing – not the least of which were a series of reflected UV images of the bite marks for comparison to McCann and Walker, though McCann's medical state and the absence of formal dental records meant no firm confirmation as yet.

Steve had been terrified until further examination proved there'd been no sign of actual penetration. Still, so much more had happened; much more that remained unknown as they'd been unable to question Danny. That day would come and no matter what, there was little doubt that he had been significantly traumatized. Noting the infected bite marks had been bad enough; the drugs and God only knew what else had all of them sick to their stomachs. Things which would remain unknown until he could talk. _If_ he would talk.

"Danny, you need to drink something." Steve shook his head in frustrated worry as Danny seemed to wilt into the very bed at the sight of a simple paper cup. "This is just a cup of ice, Danny. It's plain ordinary ice water. It's over ... it's really over and you're safe." As he spoke, Steve lessened the grip he had on Danny's hand, but refused to entirely let go. "Walker's _dead_. You've got nothing left to worry about. As for McCann ... he can't - _won't_ \- ever come after you again."

 _Spense wasn't dead then._ Danny blinked at the brief update, his fear openly showing in his eyes now as he put two and two together with startling ease. His mouth opened and a puff of air came out to fog the mask, but nothing more. He couldn't find the right words to say, even if he could speak correctly.

"No. Stop. You know what? None of that matters right now, Danny," Steve frowned as Danny's face changed unexpectedly, once more uncertain as to why and suddenly anxious to change the subject. "You need your rest. We can talk later when you're more up to it."

Without warning, Danny's face lost all emotion as he listened, his fingers falling loose inside of Steve's grip. Walker was indeed dead. But … _Spense_? The older man was incredibly alive and Danny was aware enough to realize that was unexpected news. He closed his eyes, wracking an uncooperative brain to provide more useful information. He remembered ... blood ... being _touched_ ... and a desperate fight. But nothing else came to the fore except for an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia and remnants of a one-on-one fight for survival against Dylan Walker.

 _"Don' 'mem'br,"_ Danny chuffed under the oxygen mask, words slurred and hardly intelligible. His throat felt like sandpaper and he coughed dryly, cringing at the feeling and yet resisting the offer of spooned ice. He stopped Steve's hand when he went to move the oxgyen mask, insistent that Danny try to let the chips melt in his mouth. He wanted to, but was both afraid and distracted.

 _"Sp'nse?"_ His voice was strained, raspy, making Steve flinch in response. The deep lines across his forehead, combined with the pained crinkle of his eyes proved the very depths of his stressed confusion.

" _Shhh_ , Danno," Steve warned, a new concern flourishing as his partner scrunched his eyes closed in a flux of emotional pain. He held the cup of ice in one hand and wondered at the odd reaction, knowing that Danny needed to moisten his mouth, hesitant though to push more. "Don't try to talk … not just yet … you only need to rest and get your strength back. Can you take some ice, buddy?"

With an effort, Danny rediscovered the nerves in his fingers to briefly squeeze Steve's fingers in agreement. He was scaring his friend - he was scared himself. He couldn't even fathom how to explain how a simple cup of water or ice terrified him. Thinking seemed like an impossibility and speech was completely out of the question. He looked at the cup and swallowed hard, he was parched and desperate for a drink and yet so damnably _afraid_.

Danny didn't move when Steve pushed the oxygen mask aside. He stared at the cup and then the spoon, a tightness in his chest made him hesitate until their eyes met over the ridiculously small white cup.

"It's just ice," Steve insisted. He rambled on worriedly until his own words solved the issue spontaneously as he quite accidentally found the crux of the problem. "I got it myself from the kitchen. It's clean ... fresh. _Shit_ , Danny, I'm sorry ... there's nothing in it! This is just plain ice ... and water."

Steve didn't say any more when Danny finally gave in. Instead, he simply put the oxygen mask back and ignored the entire event. His brain was churning though as Danny's eyes tiredly closed. What the hell had McCann done to incur such a phobic response in his partner? The one and only answer was the most obvious: _drugs_ and Steve mentally cursed the man as he watched Danny begin to drift back to sleep.

But even though Danny's eyes were fully closing, he still was focused on Spenser McCann. He clung on to Steve's hand not knowing what to think or feel now that he'd heard it out loud. _Alive_. He had really believed that he'd killed him —- even Dylan Walker had assumed Spenser dead.

" _Spense_?" Eyes wedged shut, Danny's lips barely mouthed the name much to Steve's consternation. A small puff of exhaled air clouded the mask at the same time Steve's eyes narrowed in concern. What was abundantly clear, was that Steve didn't like any part of Danny's current feelings, nor the use of the mercenary's first name; definitely not the shortened and much too familiar version of it.

" _McCann's_ not expected to make it," Steve coldly informed him, head cocked quizzically as if he could accurately read his partner's next reaction. "You did good, Danny. You did what you had to and he can't touch you. I promise that he'll never come near you again."

But Danny didn't respond. His face lost any of the color it might have held and his fingers fell lax once more inside Steve's hand. He was tired, confused and sick. Understanding that McCann was still _breathing_ was too much for him to contend with.

"You have to let me take some of this on," Steve whispered suddenly and Danny inhaled carefully before blearily looking up into his face. The coldness was gone, replaced once more with an aching need for apology and a bone-deep worry. Steve grimaced when he glanced towards the cup of ice, an odd discomfort for the benign object twanged his chest on his best friend's behalf. He didn't even know where to begin or what to think might have happened for all those days. _Water - of all things?_

"I don't know how else to help, Danny. And I have to find a way … I _need_ to find a way. I need to shoulder some of this for you," Steve said quietly.

There was a desperate beseeching in his eyes; something which he tried to communicate through his hands despite knowing Danny wanted to object. He could already see the haunted look and the desperation which wasn't even trying to lurk or be hidden. All of Danny's pain, fear and uncertainty were on the surface at that very moment no matter the denials to come.

"You're going to get through this — we are going to get through this," Steve continued his whisper as Danny closed his eyes again, seemingly refusing to cope with anything more. "Danny. _Please_." What he was seeing scared Steve more than anything he'd ever experienced and his own eyes filled watching the single tear escape from beneath his friend's lashes. "Danny, don't shut me out. Not now."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	29. Chapter 29

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Are you sure that you're up to this?" Steve asked. "You don't have to talk to anyone. _Especially_ Agent LaRouche." By some ridiculous means, INTERPOL had seen fit to finally appear to bolster their small contingent. That same almost obligatory contingent which had shown up well _after_ Five-0 and HPD had entered the penthouse so many days earlier. But due to what had become a very tenuous relationship, Danny didn't really know that Steve had prohibited LaRouche from asking him anything until he'd been declared physically stable by the doctor. In fact, any INTERPOL agent had been banned from going anywhere near him until official entreaties had escalated up to the Governor to demand an audience as soon as possible.

"They want McCann extradited if he ever gets well enough to travel and it's another reason why they're coming to the hospital today," Steve added quietly. "Kono just called again. They can have him."

Reclined just so, Danny was staring straight ahead across the room, lost somewhere in his head, but his eyes shifted to Steve's face at that news. What Steve hadn't added was that INTERPOL could have McCann _if he lived_ \- and he certainly hoped that he wouldn't. McCann's condition was still listed as critical. In fact, the mercenary had weakened significantly in direct contrast to the ground which Danny had gained.

"It's fine," Danny whispered. He held no value for them. He was sure of that. With Walker dead, McCann on death's door and Leon evidently gone, Danny was positive that he'd nothing to offer of any value whatsoever. He only knew Doctor Isabelle Mercier's name and nothing else.

Steve hid his frown when Danny's gaze fell back across the room and he retreated once more to that vague distant place. He watched as Danny blindly adjusted his splinted arm in his lap, his friend overly quiet about how he was truly feeling. Further investigation by his medical team had confirmed a likely scaphoid fracture, necessitating the continued immobilisation of his forearm from thumb to elbow. The doctor had surmised it happened as a result of the force used to hit Walker with the pipe – the kind of injury seen in BMX riders landing heavily on the handlebars. Danny had been fitted with a thermoplastic splint, under which he wore a thin cotton stockinette. A stockinette which was frayed and pulled at every edge from the worried fiddle borne of idle hands. It was obvious that Danny didn't know quite where to settle his feelings. He hadn't even complained much about the line in his neck or how much pain he was still in. But he was sore and sick, both inside and out from a variety of soft tissue damage and bone-deep contusions. From his body-surf down the hotel staircase, the deep bruising over his ribs and sternum only made his woes all the more stressful. Each painful breath a reminder of the void of events he had tried to escape.

"You sure?" Steve pressed again, unable to help himself since he completely disagreed with the intelligence of allowing the visit. When it came to having anything of value to offer, he and Danny were of the same mind. But where Danny was still willing to allow the short visit, Steve was wholeheartedly against the idea.

"Yes, Steven," Danny blandly answered, the tiniest twitch of something that nearly resembled a smile finally lifted one side of his lips as his eyes slid briefly back to meet Steve's. "I'm sure."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Detective Williams. Can you tell us why this was in your pocket and maybe where you found it?" Agent LaRouche was holding something in her fingers. Gold, rectangular and studded with iridescent gems. For some as yet to be confirmed reason, the INTERPOL agent had finally deigned to descend upon Oahu. INTERPOL were far from being warmly welcomed though; in fact, their audience with Five-0 was distinctly limited regardless of their escalation to the Governor.

"Do you remember finding this?"

Danny stared at the pretty, ornate object - so different now in broad daylight. "If you don't remember, it's all right," Steve softly hummed under his breath. Still in hospital garb himself, Steve fidgeted next to Danny where they stood side by side in the hospital room. He folded his arms defensively as if the rather benign question might still be problematic or cause undue stress due to his friend's faulty memory.

"Maybe," Danny whispered, his eyes continually disconcerting to look at for their reddish hue. Once he'd learned INTERPOL was indeed coming to question him, he wanted out of his bed. He wanted to be standing and in control; not bedridden. That decision placed Steve at his side, with both cousins flanking LaRouche and her team.

The barrette was pretty, with its two pearls and glitter of bright crystals. Actually, _beautiful_ outside the confines of the dry-docked freighter … and the room. Much different than even at the old sugar refinery. Exceedingly different when one wasn't so befuddled by fever and fear. Regardless of how it really looked with a sensible mind though, Steve was completely correct. Seeing the pretty item was extremely problematic.

"Detective Williams? Are you all right?"

Danny coughed as his throat tightened, a slow blink of his eyes causing the Swarovski crystals to blur and shimmer together. He knew exactly what it was and upon sight, he also knew precisely where he'd found it. He knew and it was indeed a problem. Contrary to Steve's initial opinion though, _not_ remembering wasn't going to cause him stress; it was the exact opposite that sent his head spinning out of control. Danny opened his mouth to speak but his world suddenly canted on its axis. Then his vision and hearing both fled him and he was falling.

He went down hard on both knees, landing at Steve's feet, remembering only the sharp outline of the barrette in his palm. That and the room on the freighter. Dylan. He'd used the sharp edges of the barrette to stay aware and to keep a hold on his sanity. The room had been dingy, dimly lit by a small camping lantern, and much too small.

_Small. Airless._

Under the influence of drugs or not and severe duress not withstanding, he'd panicked instantly upon the door being slammed home. Minutes could have been days and it wouldn't have mattered. When Dylan had finally come back for him, Danny had been in a stupor and he couldn't recall much ... except for the barrette which he'd discovered under the corner of the filthy old mattress. The odd find had been his sole focus - his impetus to escape Walker - and now Agent LaRouche was holding it in her hand.

"He's going to be fine," Steve's voice was somewhere over his head, but still much too far away. "No, I don't know what happened ... give him a few more minutes. That damned thing obviously reminded him of something. Get the doctor in here!"

After that, he never heard Steve or felt his presence. It took Danny time to come back to himself and to feel where he was again. Nonetheless, once sound resumed, he couldn't open his eyes and he certainly wasn't able to speak. Feeling thick-headed and disjointed, he simply lay where he'd fallen, barely conscious of more than Steve's waxing and waning voice or of the way his friend was persistently tapping his cheeks. Anger and concern stressed his friend's tone as he simultaneously spouted orders at whoever was nearby, and then begged Danny to open his eyes.

"Shit. Danny? Give him space ... where's the damn medical staff!" Steve's voice tunnelled away and then got louder, along with a number of others who'd entered the secluded hospital room. Chin. Kono. A few new voices full of concern and wanting to help. Fingers pressed firmly into his carotid artery as an arm cradled his shoulders and protected his splinted forearm. "Come on ... come on, Danny. Can you hear me? Danny?"

Eyes wedged shut against the continuing flux of vertigo, Danny finally nodded to the pestering which eventually replaced the bee hive buzzing inside his head. Without needing to look, he realized that they were on the floor, the left side of his temple having narrowly missed the corner of his own hospital bed. Steve was kneeling behind him, talking incessantly and making demands. His arms were wrapped around Danny's upper body. Holding him up, allowing him to recline just enough, and buffering a further nosedive into the floor.

"Say something then ... what the hell just happened?" Steve asked anxiously. Danny blinked and then gave up at trying to clear his vision. When that failed, he allowed his eyes to droop to a tired blurry squint. He forgot Steve's question and then to talk as a musty memory solidified.

"Fatima," Danny muttered, the ancient rust-coated name flashed over his mind's eye. The old behemoth had been overwhelming to his drug-addled mind, but he'd remembered the name. "Fatima." But it was all he could see and then all he could say.

As his vision began to clear, Danny stared up into the eyes of a concerned Agent LaRouche. Whether that concern was for him or the ongoing sanctity of her 'mission' Danny couldn't be sure, but she was disorientingly close; crouched down and balanced gracefully on her heels regardless of her black pencil skirt. She was saying something too, her voice soothing and worried, but Danny missed her query entirely. Her accent was strong and the buzzing was slowly returning to affect his hearing while flickering light threatened the edges of his vision.

"Fatima? You have five seconds to say something that makes sense, Danno," Steve spouted over his head. "Five and then LaRouche is out of here …. this interrogation is over!"

"It's an old freighter, Commander," LaRouche softly provided.

"How the hell do you know that?" Steve demanded. "Why are you here interrogating Detective Williams when you _still_ apparently know more than you're ever going to be willing to admit to - or even share?"

One barrette hardly constituted an interrogation, nonetheless Danny remained silent. He settled instead for focusing on Steve so he could manage a short explanation. He'd forgotten about Dylan and the stifling confines of that room. He'd completely buried the remnants of that horrible experience within the mix of all the other drug-induced half-realities.

"He," Danny whispered. He saw Dylan in his head and then the distant black sea. The room and it's dingy mattress. His body shuddered from a remembered sensation of being moved inside a darkened SUV. There had been old docks and then a pitted skeleton of a ship.

"He... _ah_ ... boat. _Fri_ ... _Frid_...day. Fatima." He forced his mouth to form any words at all which he pushed out on a raspy exhale knowing none would mean a single thing. His voice shook badly as he clawed at Steve's arm at the memory which solidified a bit more strongly. The cramped storage room. The smell of a tiny airless room with an old stained mattress. The scent of Spenser McCann which remained stuck inside his nose.

"Steve?" Danny murmured, his voice thin and wispy from stress and pain. He shuddered uncontrollably at the memory of being held in Spense's arms, petted and so deeply kissed he was rendered breathless by the possessive older man. "I can't …. I can't .…"

"Danny," Steve pleaded with him now as he saw the fear break forth from where it had lingered just below the surface. The stupid barrette had become a trigger of mammoth proportions and he was beside himself as his partner turned ashen and began to hyperventilate in earnest. By his side, Kono was frantically taking mental notes and beginning to put the stray nonsensical words together.

"Get them out of here. Get the doctor in here," Steve demanded of Chin, his voice dropping to avoid any further undue stress. He glanced Kono's way though, torn by indecision as her fingers flew over her tablet because she was nodding to herself. She mouthed the word _Fatima_ , then frowned, her head cocked queerly to the side in thought.

"LaRouche is right; it is an old dry-docked tanker," she whispered discreetly to Steve. "Virtually forgotten."

Steve gave a curt nod, inwardly wincing as Danny moaned in fear. "Try to stay calm ... just please ... try. You're okay," Steve softly promised. "Doctor's coming ... you're safe, Danny."

"Steve?" Danny blinked again, Dylan's voice now in his head with threats and promises. He cringed, his bare heels sliding across the tile as he tried to burrow backwards into his friend's body. Vacillating between McCann and Walker, he couldn't fight the watery moan at the feeling of being trapped ... the suffocating _feel_ of the small room.

In some fashion, it all had happened. The proof of the tiny airless room was presently cradled on the slim palm of Agent LaRouche's hand and he remembered.

"Try this," a new voice suggested nearby. "Small sips?" It was a young woman's voice which was helpful and calm but he dry-heaved when a cup of water was pressed into his hand. His fingers spasmed to reject the offering and he lurched away in Steve's arms, the water spilling over his legs and the floor.

"No!" Steve barked as he tucked Danny into his chest. "Just ... _no_. It's not what he needs! Anyone that doesn't need to be here, needs to get out. Chin, get them out of here. Now!" Danny's automatically fearful reaction was only tempered by the anger in Steve's voice as he evicted the onlookers on his friend's behalf. Hanging on to his terrified charge, he could feel the gallop of his friend's heart through his arm as his own chest heaved from a rush of adrenalin.

"What's going on in here?" A new voice joined Steve's and Danny cringed even deeper into his friend, covering his ears with his arms as he cowered in place. Strident and purposeful, the new arrival added import to Chin's demands almost immediately.

"Get out - get these people out of here and away from my patients!"

Things around him were escalating as he heard the doctor and his team finally arrive to disperse the unwanted group of INTERPOL authorities and ancillary staff. Steve's voice remained included in the mix; forever insistent and extremely angry. Danny could hardly blame the man by that point because he simply couldn't get his act together enough to be convincing. Hell, he couldn't even convince himself anymore.

"I just ... okay," Danny coughed half-heartedly as he bit back another reflexive gag. Steve chuffed a disgusted sound, resolute about banning INTERPOL entirely from the hospital. Danny understood as he sagged backwards utterly drained of energy, his face apologetic when he blearily eyed the worry in LaRouche's expression as she was ushered from his view. He'd just caused an inordinate amount of trouble for everyone, but his last glimpse of the worried agent's face was telling.

LaRouche knew the unique barrette for what it was. It meant something to INTERPOL's case as it applied to Doctor Mercier. She was aching for validation and Danny managed a small agreeable nod, entirely astonished with himself for not understanding or questioning why such a pretty thing might have been tossed so rudely aside inside of a dry-docked, defunct ship.

"I'm sorry, Detective," LaRouche softly trilled from just overhead, her eyes swirling worriedly to catch Steve's perturbed gaze as she sought confirmation. She'd moved to the doorway and insisted on lingering for a moment longer. "But ... he knows? Yes? He remembers where he got this? It was on definitely the _Fatima_? And Friday too - what does that mean?"

 _Fatima_. It made sense now. And that remembered black abyss made Danny choke again. There was a vague odor which that name conjured in his mind. A dank horrid smell of wet metal, briny seawater and rot he also associated to a desperate, terrified feeling of being lost forever. Tucked away and forgotten. The barrette was beautiful in the light and would have been completely out of place where he'd found it and he never once questioned the find. Yet, what validated the female doctor's existence for LaRouche, now served to prove a poorly remembered fragment of what he thought could have been imagination.

As he lay limply up against Steve's chest fighting to keep his eyes open and not fall into an embarrassing paroxysm of hyperventilating, Danny nodded again. McCann had bragged about the ship and a woman; as had Walker. These were fragmented, odd snippets rattling around in his head. However, together, they did mean something. He paused in an attempt to catch his breath as the doctor fussed over his vitals, unable to stop shaking despite Steve's buoying strength.

He managed to look up when new fingers closed over his wrist, somewhat surprised when Kono's face swam into view. She was hunkered down, balanced now between himself and his doctor who was forcing an oxygen mask over his face.

" _Fatima_ is an old ship, Danny?" Kono quietly suggested. "The exchange is going to be on Friday sometime - is that right? Is that what you heard?"

'Yeah. Summit." Through clenched teeth, Danny forcibly pushed out what LaRouche needed to hear. Stammering terribly for the thick pain in his throat, his teeth clacking as if he were freezing, each word was a struggle. "Old ... ship. I know ... I know ...where she is. Walker said … exchange that night."

"It's okay," Kono encouraged him to relax. "We got this ... it's enough. It's enough, Danny. Please don't try to talk anymore."

She urged him to relax where he was cocooned safely with Steve and the medical staff as she rose smoothly to her feet. Upon leaving his side though, she was angry and Chin's face was a mask of outrage as he joined her to buoy her intentions.

"You're done here," Kono said sternly. "If it's still on, the Friday would be tonight. So if losing Walker and McCann didn't completely send this summit sideways, then Doctor Mercier's exchange will happen sometime tonight on the _Fatima_. This is your problem though, Agent LaRouche. Not ours. Not anymore."

With a severe look, she and Chin ended the joint conversation. As one, both physically backed LaRouche and her team out of the hospital room.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	30. Chapter 30

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Where are you?" Steve called out the minute he got to Danny's hospital room. Though the team had negligible interest in INTERPOL's ongoing work as it related to Doctor Mercier, he did have an update which he thought would be of some interest to his partner. "Hey, Danny? Where the hell are you?"

With sheets strewn nearly to the floor, Danny's bed was a veritable mess. Pushed aside was the high tray table on which a recently provided breakfast sat steaming. Eying the food tray as the culprit, Steve instantly scowled and turned towards the private bathroom. Sure enough, there was a glimmer of light shining from under the bottom lip of the thin door.

"Danny?" Steve softly enquired, his forehead pressed against the door frame while his fingers rapped twice. He was questioning, though Danny likely couldn't reply comfortably and Steve mentally kicked himself a second later.

"Hey? You okay in there?" More than that initial inability to answer, an uneasy feeling began to settle in the pit of Steve's stomach. He heard a faint sound which he couldn't readily identify and his unease grew. Something was wrong.

"Danno?" His friend most certainly wasn't okay. If yet another stupid question could be asked, Steve had just done it. He knew that Danny wasn't okay because the sudden surge of déjà vu was simply too strong. Steve opened the door slowly only to move quickly forward, cursing under his breath as he carefully squatted down.

Eyes wedged shut and giving out with short raspy coughs, Danny was seated on the tiled floor, knees pulled up high between wall and toilet bowl. Though his stomach was empty, it was clear that he'd been sick based on the oily sheen of sweat which coated his face and neck.

"Come on, you can't stay here," Steve cringed at his words, replicas of what he'd said once to Danny in his own home. Worse than déjà vu. It was a repeat performance because, as before, Steve was hampered by injury and unable to directly help him get to his feet.

"Danno, I'm sorry, you've got to help me out here, buddy," Steve whispered, toying with and then discarding the concept of getting help. He could also easily pull the emergency cord which dangled by his friend's left shoulder. Now that he was there, leaving Danny seemed wrong despite being in the hospital. It also seemed wrong to have others witness Danny's moment of weakness and Steve further hesitated as he almost went for the cord. If he asked for help now, the interruption would be all-encompassing. He'd be forced to step aside in lieu of medical intervention and that simply seemed wrong. That precise scenario had played out the last time when LaRouche had triggered a violent response by the mere presentation of an ornate hair barrette. Steve had been forced to the side, Danny had been mildly sedated and this subsequent waking was less than optimal.

For all of that though, his partner couldn't stay on the floor. "You've got to get up on your own. I can't do it, I can't lift you up" Steve pressed on, then changed a dramatic course. "Doc says you're still not up to talking too much, but I know what you're thinking. I know what you're worried about. We've been here before, buddy, and it was alright then and it'll be alright now."

Danny didn't move though. Not a single muscle twitched except for an occasional sporadic hard swallow, followed again by the strangled sound of a raspy, dry cough. Steve stared at Danny with a deep intensity. The bruises which covered Danny's neck were still dark and vivid, but the swelling had gone down significantly. The central line had been removed, but the bright white of the small pad in its place seemed to do nothing but accentuate the pattern bruising … the large hand and fingers of his tormentor marked on his skin for all to see – a visual reminder of his terror and how close he had come to death. Danny had made significant progress physically. He was beginning to heal. Nonetheless, the man was reluctant to speak from discomfort; but Steve knew there was more here than met the eye, too. Like the old sling from the arm injury suffered during McCann's first visit, these injuries were being partly used as an excuse to avoid communication. At the worst of times, Danny was beyond vocal. But when he was in extreme distress, either physical or mental, he tended to shut down and turned scarily inward.

"Danno?"

Even with his eyes pressed shut, Danny sensed that Steve had moved much closer. He heard the stifled intake of breath which meant Steve was straining too hard and pulling painfully on his own abdominal wound. Still, he eased down next to him. Steve was close; so close, they were nearly touching. Danny willed himself to stop reacting the way he seemed to be … and failed. He was desperate to be normal. Desperate to go back to being himself. However, Steve's very proximity instilled a feeling of being trapped. It flung him back into his dark thoughts and he could almost _smell_ McCann's scent. Aged musty cologne, sweat ... an unhealthy lingering smell of burnt spice. Nothing even remotely like Steve and yet he couldn't stop.

_Too close. Like McCann ... close ... with no regard for personal space. Knee to knee ... breathing down his neck._

_Touching. Too close._

Without any warning, Danny heaved again, spitting up bile in front of his best friend. He simply couldn't help the physical response. His stomach twisted inside out as his throat tightened in pain. His breath juddered and he winced, lambasting himself even though even his own mental reprimand lacked conviction.

 _Not the same._ Not even close, because this was Steve and entirely different. He was desperate for all the bad thoughts - for his out of control emotions - to end. He wanted to apologize and failed at that, too. Reactive tears streaming down his face as he folded in upon himself.

"Whoa, Danny. Easy!"

No matter how he tried, his private pep talk was an epic fail. Danny jolted badly when a sympathetic hand connected with his arm, rearing backwards to fall into the wall. His eyes sprang open when he inadvertently thwacked his head hard, full of fear and a desperate need to escape. He saw Steve. He clearly registered that Steve was there with him, yet he was helpless to control his physical response … _just like with McCann_ … and with that thought replaying over and over in his head, Danny heaved again.

"Easy. Take it easy," Steve coached, his hand resolute and never moving from its place. He followed Danny's frenetic motion, riding it out. Gently squeezing his arm and insisting that he calm down and focus while whispering over and over. "It's only me. Only me ... it's only us, Danny."

 _Before_. So many weeks earlier, Danny had sworn that nothing had happened. He had remembered quite clearly that nothing had really happened with McCann. A few errant touches, an occasional innuendo or two. A warm sickening kiss before the man had departed the island, leaving Danny to whatever future fate had thrown him.

In reality, nothing had really happened. Nothing of note. Nonetheless, Danny had been turned inside out and twisted around inside of his head. Now though – this second time – Danny was having trouble reconciling events in his head. His doctors had reassured him that there had been no penetrable act. He hadn't been raped, and yet he felt so incredibly violated and … _unclean_. He wanted so badly to just feel normal again, to put it all behind him and move on. He'd tried so very hard – he hadn't been raped, so it should have been easy enough. He was more than capable of filing it all away … but he was so very wrong. He'd become withdrawn and often physically ill.

During McCann's first visit, he'd functioned well enough to have fooled everyone for a time, except of course for Steve. And now, fooling anyone including himself, was a complete farce

Everything was different now and Steve could see it clearly. Hell, anyone with a brain could. They all knew the obvious - that Danny had been drugged. That he'd become the plaything of a psychotic man. Worse yet, that he simply didn't remember everything when his body apparently did.

The doctors had repeatedly told him that in all likelihood his memories might have been swallowed up by an abyss the size of the Grand Canyon. They were trying to help calm his mind, but Danny feared that unknown and was even angry with himself. Steve could see it was more than just the fear of the unknown which was slowly destroying his friend. More than the ever-present elephant in the room that they'd been avoiding until he voluntarily decided to talk about it. It didn't matter that a full sexual assault exam had revealed no evidence of penetration; that there'd been no evidence of _that_ kind of physical trauma.

As Steve hung on to his friend, he wasn't at all sure who was supporting whom any more. The convulsive swallowing. The physical reaction and the slightly glazed look in his partner's eyes. The subtle tremble of a body coursing with adrenaline – a visceral response Steve knew only too well. One he had experienced himself. One he had seen in friends returned from combat. In that moment, Steve knew. He knew his partner remembered more than he would admit. He remembered far too much … and that knowledge alone turned his stomach.

"Danny, talk to me," Steve whispered. "And if not to me, then we'll find someone you're comfortable with."

Just before he'd staggered into the bathroom, shaking and sick to his stomach, Danny had been visited by his doctor. The one-sided discussion had been wholly owned by the older physician who was pleased by the decrease in swelling, so much so that he'd voluntarily broached the subject of Danny's discharge.

That daily visit had been fine, it was what had come next which hadn't been. A trigger had been pulled and Danny had found himself in an endless loop of misery.

_"Breakfast?" The query had come from the doorway. He had lain there quietly as the aide rushed in, smiling and happy to be of help as she pushed the tray under his nose. Un-offended by his silence, she gave him a pert smile and was gone nearly as quickly as her sudden arrival._

_The queasiness had come on as soon as the heated odor wafted under his nose. Even covered with their heavy plastic lids, he could smell the food and his stomach had churned threateningly. A memory teased him, soft as a feather but as black as the hole which continually swallowed his confidence._

_Feeling an odd surge of panic, Danny had pushed the elevated tray away and had swung his legs off the side of the bed. He'd rocked in place for a moment until another hard pang doubled him over. With his splinted arm anchored across his midsection, he'd half stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it where he'd begun to retch and cough._

_With a soft moan, he'd gone down to his knees; eyes wedged shut as a ghostly version of McCann's voice softly sounded inside his head. Every part of his body hurt from his head, down to his feet. He had bumps, bruises and soft tissue damage. He could literally feel the small reddish-black bite marks left by McCann's teeth along his collarbone and neck. He tasted his own blood in his mouth. A cloying tang pushed resolutely into the back of his own throat._

An eerie imprint had been left inside his soul where it languished insidiously, just taunting and making him wonder. He'd been left with bits and pieces of things which made no sense. Weird things which couldn't be strung together or dissected as either fact ... or fiction ... and not knowing was slowly beginning to unravel his very sense of being. Even with Steve in his corner, and this time quite literally as he crouched next to him in a cold, sterile bathroom, Danny felt alone and desolate.

"I can't do this," Danny desperately whispered. He sagged backwards into the corner, limp and drained to his very core. "Steve, I can't. I can't ... remember ... and it's worse. There's bits and pieces, but it's all … I can't … I didn't want … oh God, Steve …it's so much worse than before."

"You need to listen to me," Steve said. No longer insisting that they get up, Steve sat down and got as comfortable as possible. He edged closer; intentionally devouring what little remained of Danny's space while doing his best to ignore the hollow look in his best friend's eyes.

"You're going to think I'm crazy for saying this, but nothing happened," Steve softly explained. "Not _nothing_ ... but nothing you can't conquer. All this stuff you're so worried you can't remember? You have to let it go, Danny. You know that when you got here, the doctors ran a full sexual assault exam and …" Steve stopped at the look on his best friend's face. He watched the sickened pallor increase as he spoke; noted the resurgence of the convulsive swallow used to mask overwhelming nausea.

"Danny? Danny, look at me. Please?" Steve waited, barely breathing, but his partner seemed to disappear inside of himself, a disgusted look on his face. Steve dipped his head to stare into the face of his partner. A partner who refused to look at him directly. Steve saw it as clearly as if it were written on a neon sign before him; read it in the glassy blue eyes that refused to look at him. Saw the torment as it settled there alongside the tears and revulsion. "You couldn't help it, D. None of this was your fault and whatever you did or didn't do – whatever your _body_ did …"

Steve picked up speed as Danny stared into his face. He'd hit the nail on the head based on the blended look of disbelief, fear and a hopeful trust. The latter struck a certain chord in Steve hard and he wended the fingers of his free hand through Danny's once he'd unhinged the rigid fist from his friend's chest. His heart broke for his best friend as he watched him at war with himself; jaw clenching in anger as the full weight of what had been done to him finally hit home. Steve's breath hitched as Danny turned away from him once again; as he read shame in his expression and the dry heaves resumed. Steve leaned in to pull him closer, biting back both his anger and the physical pain of the move.

"Listen, D … listen to me." Steve cupped Danny's jaw in his hand and waited for tortured blue eyes to meet his gaze. "What McCann did to you – what he did _with_ you – you never asked for any of it. You never gave consent, D. You were assaulted by that sick son-of-a-bitch and any physical response you had was just that, you hear me? You don't have to consent to be aroused, Danny. You know that. It's a biological thing and it in no way means you wanted it. _Any of it_. It's as automatic as … I don't know … _breathing_. It just happens with the right pressure in the right place – even at entirely the wrong time and even when it's entirely inappropriate – just ask any teenage boy … or any girlfriend. A man's junk does all kinds of weird crap all by itself and no amount of thinking it away works either – no matter who you imagine naked …"

A small smile played at Danny's lips, but Steve knew he was walking a fine line between sincerity and flippancy.

"That said, you're not a victim, D …"

Danny snorted at that, his disbelief quite clear.

"You're not. You're a _survivor_ and you're gonna get through this."

"Really? I'm glad you think so, cos I really don't see how I'm ever gonna 'get through' this," Danny gestured with his fingers to indicate the quote; tears now running freely down his face.

"You will. We'll get you through this together, Danny. I promise …"

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep, Steven."

Steve's vision was blurred by his own tears – and not for the first time since this whole episode had started.

"You're not alone in this. I'm right here and no matter how long it takes or how hard it is, we'll get through this, together. I'm not leaving you to deal with this alone. I'm here for you no matter what, D."

"What if there is no 'through'? What if I can't … if there's … Steve I can't even touch my own dick to take a piss without remembering that feeling … it won't leave me alone … of all the memories that bastard stole from me, why does it have to be _that_ one I get to keep, huh?

"I'm serious, Danny. We've got some things to work through. I won't lie about that. But you're okay ... you will be okay," Steve softly promised.

"There were a lot of drugs in your system when you got here," Steve further explained. "Any one of them would have messed with your head ... your memories of what really had been going on. McCann doped you up, he definitely played games with you and Walker ... God, Danny, we almost didn't find you in time. So I know you went through hell, and I know what I'm saying is not going to be perfect. This is all going to take a long time to get over but, Danno, listen to me, _you're going to be okay._ "

Steve paused, intent on making himself not only heard but entirely believed because he suddenly couldn't read Danny's expression. He picked his words carefully, skirting cold clinical language but getting to the same key point. "We'll work through this, Danny. You and me ... we'll work through whatever happens next. I promise."

The next period of silence was so long, Steve began to worry even more than he was. "You do understand what I'm saying, don't you?" He asked.

Danny nodded in reply. Just once. And it was completely unconvincing.

"You believe me, too, right?" Steve asked carefully, still unsure of what to say or do next without his partner fully engaged. The subsequent nod was hesitant, sketchy at best and Steve shook his head with a quiet, morose sigh. Danny heard and believed him, but it was all too much to take in and if the present was repeating the past, Danny not only hadn't been able to eat, he also hadn't been able to sleep peacefully. He believed what he'd been told, but needed time to process what had happened in its entirety and the road would be undeniably long. Instead of pushing, Steve gently squeezed Danny's hand and focused on the here and now, and the plain fact that Danny was purely worn out.

"Come on, help me up," Steve said, giving a gentle tug to get Danny moving because he seriously needed a hand in getting to his own feet. He allowed Danny to get up first, then untangled his legs. He stood slowly, barely able to stand and completely unable to hide his scowl of annoyance when his abdominal muscles made themselves known again.

"I'm fine," Steve soothed, though he did lean on Danny's shoulder just a bit. "You need to get off your feet more than I do, Danno."

He waited then as his friend silently and wearily tumbled back into the hospital bed, Danny's eyes closing almost instantly from exhaustion brought on by too much emotional and physical stress. Just like so many weeks before, he'd gone directly back to the beginning with his lack of discourse and inability to either eat or sleep.

_How much more was there? How much more of the surface needed to be scratched ... and would they ever truly know?_

Steve stared hard at Danny seeing only the wan face, the taut lines of stress creasing his forehead and thinning his lips. Danny was in that space too; he was much too smart not to be revisiting that terrifying page in some unknown chapter over and over ... and over, again. Ignorance was never going to be bliss for the likes of his partner. And frankly, it wouldn't be for himself.

"It's going to be okay," Steve blurted out. "Everything's going to be fine."

"Is it?" Danny rasped barely above a murmur. The challenge fell flat as Danny lapsed into silence. His eyes closed, sweat still beaded his upper lip and he swallowed convulsively and for a long moment Steve was truly afraid. Danny looked as if the fight had gone out of him. Haggard and worn, he looked defeated and greatly diminished. He was back to removing himself and retreating to a dangerous realm.

"Yes, it is," Steve insisted, though another internal voice teased with an evil vindictiveness. "It's going to be alright. It's going to be fine, Danny. I promise."

It was a promise which Steve had no right in making and they both knew it. Unless the crime scenes revealed catastrophic evidence of abuse or Danny had a vivid flashback or chose to talk, Steve wouldn't dare go any further either. But right then, Danny had begun to shut down and Steve's inner voice was angrily taunting him.

_Was there more under the surface?_

"You really have to let me take some of this on," Steve blurted out suddenly and Danny inhaled sharply in response before looking up into his face. He'd said it before and he'd wholeheartedly meant every single word. He held up his hand when Danny immediately opened his mouth to object the sentiment. The sound which emanated was tight, raspy and this time Steve used Danny's discomfort to his own advantage. "I don't know how else to help, Danny. You know I've got your back. Whatever you need, but I _need_ to shoulder some of this for you and I'm not asking for permission."

As Danny stared up into Steve's face he saw his own fear of the unknown reflected back at him in the glassy eyes. The SEAL looked as broken in that very moment as he had when asking for his father after Wo Fat messed with his head.

"You're going to get through this — _we_ are going to get through this. You and me together," Steve continued his whisper. His voice was urgent now and it didn't permit an argument of any kind. "Don't shut me out; don't even try because you can't do it alone and I _need_ to be there for you. I won't let you say no, so don't even try."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	31. Chapter 31

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

He left the day after Isabelle was rescued and shortly after his final call to his daughter. Grace was at cheer-camp and from there, going directly state-side for the competition; the practice session for which McCann had once taunted him with. He was happy for her at least; happy that she had some sort of normal.

In the end, Chin and Kono had been assigned to attending INTERPOL's Oahu-based mission to locate and retrieve Doctor Isabelle Mercier. Critical changes had demanded their ongoing interaction, as had the Governor. The lack of Walker and McCann's participation had indeed impacted the Mercier issue or 'summit', or whatever INTERPOL deemed to term their problem at any given time. They had been lucky to intercept communication regarding the change of date and time for the handoff. They had needed someone local to guide the infiltration of the new meeting place - and of course, that had made sense in all ways official. However, Danny hadn't been allowed to go - nor had he even asked - he simply waited at home for the call.

The lapse in time had seen both Steve and Danny released from the hospital. Unhappily and even though he was now on life support, McCann was still clinging to life. There hadn't been a call about Mercier's retrieval; instead, Steve had come straight to him, and his reaction had been stellar. Evidently that small dank room conjured from bits of claustrophobic feelings and splintered memories prompted by the sight of simple barrette was quite real. Very real based upon the myriad of pictures and images recorded on the _Fatima_.

Practically devastated on his partner's behalf, Steve had been overcome by the depths of McCann's depravity and then Dylan's evil. He'd been shocked by the size and the filth in the small hovel of a room. Doctor Mercier had managed to cope well enough. But knowing that Danny had been purposefully left there to further antagonize a known phobia had torn at his heart.

Steve had stayed with Danny for hours after that, just talking and trying to ensure that his partner was fine. Or at least as fine as could be expected. Poked and prodded, Danny affirmed what he could remember and vowed he was good because so many other things were now ghostly images. It was no lie that many things were fading at a startling rate. And now, he could focus on the success of at least the INTERPOL mission to rescue the abducted scientist; what he'd managed to remember had served a good and decent purpose. Despite the many reassurances though, Steve reluctantly only wandered away when Grace called to speak to her Danno.

After that last call, Danny simply walked away with a ratty backpack, a few hastily made sandwiches, six bottles of water and no phone or car. It was one of those bad decisions which Steve often fretted about and he'd literally proven Steve's worry. Since he never planned it, he didn't take any clothes. He left his badge on the tall dresser, which was where Steve found it when he finally caved in to search his partner out after a multitude of friendly calls became frantic attempts.

With virtually only the things on this back and a few dollars in his pocket, Danny went due north on foot to escape people and with the as yet unrecognized need to find his memories.

He walked until night fell in earnest and traffic trickled to an infrequent old car or two on the quiet backwoods road he eventually found himself on. A narrow dirt path drew him off the pavement and into a heavy shield of ferns, palms and overgrowth which he wandered down until it opened up onto a small rocky beach. Except for an over-used volcanic circle of rocks with remnants of driftwood and old beer bottles, there was no one there and nothing to see. It was precisely what Danny craved as he sank to his knees and closed his eyes.

He stayed there for three whole days just watching the sun set, then rise and then set again. Without medication, he dealt with the residual ache in his throat and the soreness of his arm. In those quiet moments, he often ran his fingers over the healing scabs on his collarbone from McCann's teeth. Forensics had finally proven it hadn't been Walker, so that only left one man. However, Danny always knew McCann had done it. He remembered the tearing pain and the bitter taste in his mouth as the older man clung to his bloodied lips. He _remembered_ McCann's hands between them and then the slick of skilled possessive fingers _on_ him, holding, pulling and stroking him to arousal.

For those few days, he dealt with his nightmares alone. Waking in a nameless fright to horribly elusive memories and uneasy feelings which simply dwindled to nothing by sunrise. No one stumbled upon his private retreat or demanded that he leave because he'd been trespassing. Not a single person was there to question his occasional dip in the sea or ask him how he was doing. But on the advent of the fourth day when his food had run out, along with his small stash of water, only then was his hand forced. He wasn't any closer to remembering. In fact, he'd removed himself so much, he really wasn't closer to knowing any more or less about himself than he did before.

His mind was clearer though and oddly, he felt generally calmer. He'd also begun to feel a mental itch to go home. A certain feeling of guilt was now on the rise for how he knew his friends would have been beyond crazed at his illicit disappearance. What he'd done - what he was doing at that very minute - was unfair and terribly wrong.

Danny left his private spit of beach shortly after sunrise, retracing his original steps out to the quiet tertiary road. Head down and dwelling on the emptiness that remained in his mind, he was stopped less than five miles later by a patrol car with two police officers.

He huffed quietly under his breath as the two men cautiously approached, uncertain until they confirmed who he was through private conversation and comparison to their BOLO reports. He almost laughed for their attempts at caution as if he might be spooked or try to run as one lingered by the patrol car and made the obligatory call. The first, an older Hawaiian, was evidently tasked with managing him.

"Detective Williams?" The officer asked, genuinely smiling in relief when Danny provided a curt nod. "Everyone's been looking for you. Are you alright, sir? Any objections to coming along with us back to our precinct?"

At the too soon loss of freedom, Danny briefly closed his eyes before nodding again. He knew he'd not get far on this return leg. They didn't have too much recourse in forcing him along, but he also had no reason to decline their help. In fact, if he did refuse, he'd bring his team's further well-deserved wrath down upon his head. But it wasn't their wrath he was worried about, it was his ongoing role in causing their continued flux in anxiety.

Without a word, Danny folded himself into the rear seat of their cruiser and accepted the cold bottle of water which was thrust into his hands. He'd been unable to eat or drink anything which he'd not made or purchased himself, but the bottle was fresh and unopened. It was cold, sweating into his hand and he was incredibly hot. He hesitated for a split second before cracking the seal and resolving himself to a long, deep swallow.

A few minutes later, they were pulling into the precinct. A small neatly maintained white, one-story building well on the outskirts of the city. Only then, did Danny understand how far he'd walked on that first day. Momentarily lost in thought, Danny looked up as the passenger door clicked open.

"How about coming in out of the heat?" The older officer said, his demeanor ever calming as he insisted Danny leave the patrol car. "Commander McGarrett's on his way over now," he added, a worried frown briefly flitting across his face. "Do you need anything, Detective? You never did answer me if you're hurt ... or needed ... anything? Anything at all?"

"Bathroom?" Danny rasped, even surprising himself by the unused rough quality of his own voice, compounded by internal bruising. He coughed uncomfortably and then looked down at his clothes. He was sure that he looked quite the sight when his hand found the days' growth of much more than stubble peppering his face and he scrubbed his hand tiredly through his hair. Yet no one did more than show him the way until the same older office reappeared a few moments later, his arms laden with toiletries, two more water bottles, and a clean department t-shirt.

"No showers out here," he explained apologetically. "We're just a satellite office. But we can at least offer you a clean shirt and a few things to freshen up. Are you hungry? Do you want me to find you something to eat?"

"Thanks," Danny muttered. Unused to speaking and almost resenting the need to communicate at length with someone he so easily read as a normally gregarious Hawaiian officer, Danny had to hide his reluctance. "Water's fine." He narrowed his eyes curiously though, trying to read the long name on the small badge. He gave a short smile when the man grinned and tapped his chest.

"Kamalaninui," he chuckled. "You can call me Kama. It's good enough." Then he lingered as if wanting to stay or unsure if he was needed for anything else. Possibly worried that the haole detective might disappear somehow. Danny pursed his lips thoughtfully knowing that McGarrett must have spouted warnings about the precinct losing his wayward partner.

"Okay," Danny nodded again, a smile barely touching his eyes in an attempt to provide the officer some semblance of reassurance. "Thanks, Kama."

"No problem, brah. I'll leave you to it then," Kama replied, appeased that the younger man seemed content enough.

Danny sobered as soon as Kama left him alone. His time was running out and he was hasty in cleaning up. He used his old shirt to mop the mess of water he made before tossing it the garbage pail. He'd just yanked the clean white t-shirt over his head when he heard his partner's familiar voice outside.

Strident, demanding and above all ... extremely upset. Furious in fact.

Danny stared ruefully at himself in the mirror and just waited for it to happen. The moment when his larger than life best friend would put a permanent end to his private sabbatical.

Any glimmer of a faint smile had melted from his face when Danny turned to face the door at the same time it burst inwards, Steve blocking the entire doorway and desperately out of breath. He was fully geared up as if for battle, a barely contained whirlwind of fury, and Danny almost found himself quirking his lips upwards into a genuine grin. Yet he never quite found it.

"You're ... a bit overdressed," Danny noted softly, his voice waning to a whisper at just the wrong time. Steve looked harried, exhausted and he instantly regretted his poor attempt at humor. Whatever subtle look of amusement he may have had, fell completely from his face.

"Overdressed!? Is that all you have to say to me? I _thought_ ... Danny, do you have any idea what we've been going through in trying to find you? Do you have any idea what I thought you might have done? I thought we missed something again ... someone else on McCann's laundry list. Do you have any idea!? What the hell were you _thinking_?" Steve shouted loudly in his frustration and relief. Unable to put a stop to his tirade, his voice echoed loudly in the small tiled space. "Where the hell did you go? And why, Danny?"

"Alone. I needed ... wanted to be ... alone," Danny replied. His voice cracked on the last word as Steve's expression darkened even more. As he'd guessed, his only offering wasn't received well at all and he found himself cringing when Steve literally gasped incredulously.

"Alone?" Steve repeated as he stepped forward and allowed the door to close behind him. "Just. Fuck, _Danny_. Alone?!"

He measured Danny from top to bottom, relieved to find him only a bit worse for wear. He hated the obvious ring of bruises peppering Danny's neck and knew what lay under the fresh t-shirt. Nonetheless, Steve was completely furious that his friend had the gall to do what he'd done and then try to offer him the most ridiculous of excuses.

He opened his mouth to speak, uncertain as to how to handle what might come next. With an angry growl, Steve slammed his mouth closed just as quickly. He was in a fury but also petrified that Danny would feel claustrophobic and bolt from the small confines of the bathroom. Overall, he was more than a little upset that Danny might go off alone in order to try to force himself to remember what Spenser McCann might have done to him. Or worse yet, to have literally killed himself because Steve had been unable to second guess anything which his friend might have done since the terrible ordeal had ended. If it ever would be over for them. But as Danny physically took an unconscious step away from his thunderous demeanor, Steve slightly relented.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He bemoaned through his fingers while dragging his hands over his face, his expression one of utter exasperation and a lingering fear. "How could you do this to me? To Kono and Chin?"

So many other things ran through his mind, too. But Steve no longer thought he knew how to help put anything back to something resembling normal. So he only found only one other question to pose as he slowly ran out of steam. "You look like crap. Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry," Danny whispered uselessly. "I didn't mean to do this; I just needed time and wasn't thinking." He hadn't found the magic bullet. He hadn't really helped himself at all. He'd only managed to hurt his friends and based on his appearance, he'd hurt Steve the most. Danny's hand flailed through the air between them as he fought to find more to say. But nothing came to mind as he stared at the dark smudges under Steve's eyes and his unkempt appearance despite the rigid correctness of the heavy gear. Though Steve hadn't spent the last many days on a rough beach, they nearly looked precisely the same.

"I'm so ... so sorry," Danny repeated. "Steve ..." He shook his head as he failed to add any value to his apology, his eyes welling with tears when Steve hesitated on approaching him. He'd belatedly realized his own response in retreating, too. They were still removed from each other and now, it was most certainly his own fault. He knew it; his therapist would also agree. But he simply didn't know what to do any more.

He was tired. Confused. And evidently, constantly making the wrong decisions time and again.

"Yeah," Steve muttered, remaining just out of reach. Cautious and incredibly worried; continually perplexed as to how to handle his skittish friend. "Me too. I'm sorry, too, but we're going to be okay. We are … and so are you."

Danny's face twitched in pain as he wavered where he stood, needing to put one hand on the sink to keep his balance. He couldn't rely on a single memory and couldn't even imagine being even remotely okay. McCann had stolen so much more from him and he didn't know how to regain any of it. He fisted his free hand and stared blindly at Steve's chest, afraid to meet his eyes.

He couldn't move. Disgusted with himself for being afraid to do what he would have at any other time because it seemed as if McCann had ruined that, too. The simplest of his gestures now seemed sullied by possible innuendo and he simply couldn't move. The name tag and Five-0 badge blurred into one white-ish cloud across the thick black vest as tears filled his eyes.

"God damnit, Danny," Steve breathed out as he realized more of what his friend was going through. He knew it then and he completely deflated as he read the utter loss in Danny's expression. "What are we doing here? Are you going to let him constantly taint what we've always had? Our friendship - what we all have as a team with Kono and Chin? Are you going to let him destroy what you do so naturally? Who you've always been?"

A knot worsened inside his throat as Steve voiced his very thoughts and Danny had to cough, wincing as he pulled and stressed his throat. As way of reply, he could only wearily shake his head to the negative as his fingernails drove crescents into the palm of his hand. It was an automatic response though. Inside, he felt entirely defeated by everything that had gone on and he was at a loss as to how to move on or come to terms with what McCann had left him with. But Steve knew that, too.

He was tactile by nature; connected to people by so much more than words or gestures. He was overly giving and enjoyed a particular generosity of spirit. And as Steve had always very happily pointed out, extremely sensitive. Only that latter fact seemed to be sticking; he just didn't know how to get the other parts of himself back.

"Danno?" Steve asked when he finally took a cautious step. "It's okay to be yourself. None of that's gone - you're not wrong to feel the way you do, but you're wrong to let it control all of you. It's perfectly alright just to take one deep breath and let go what you can't remember ... just accept that you need to let it all go. It'll drive you crazy if you let him control you from the grave."

"He's not dead," Danny softly argued. "He's still ... here."

But Steve was shaking his head to the contrary, his eyes bright with emotion.

"No, Danny," Steve explained. "He's dead. He's gone, Danno."

Steve passed the information as succinctly as possible, fearful of igniting the investigative fire his partner was so famous for. What he hadn't shared – what he _couldn't_ share – was _how_ McCann had passed. Now simply wasn't the time.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	32. Chapter 32

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

If Danny had barely been moving before, he seemed to stop breathing after Steve's announcement. He stared straight ahead as the shock of the news settled in his brain.

"Danny?"

In disbelief, he backed up another step and then turned towards the rear wall of the small bathroom. Danny stared blankly at that too until he aimlessly stumbled against it, eyes closed and forehead rocked gently against the cold tile.

He didn't know what to think about Spense being dead. Worse yet, he didn't know how to _feel_.

"Danny?" Steve worriedly prompted again from just behind his shoulder. He could see the side of Danny's face, the closed eyes and odd expression. For all intents and purposes, Danny had turned to stone but his emotions were still struggling to settle on something he could vocalize. When he managed, Danny slowly turned, resting on his shoulder, his eyes partly opened to now stare into Steve's face.

"He's really dead?" Danny asked softly. His face hardened when Steve merely nodded. "Good. _Good_ , I'm glad."

"Danny," Steve winced at the sharp words which were bitten out with an incredible venom. But he didn't know what to do or to say, either. He ached to console Danny more as he saw his shoulders sag. He wanted to see him smile again and mean it. Instead, a lone tear traced down a sunburned face that still managed to be pale, only to disappear in the outline of a scruffy beard. He knew that Danny trusted him; what Danny wasn't sure of anymore was his ability to trust himself. Or even know who he was for that matter whether he could remember certain things or not; no matter what any one doctor might say about what hadn't happened, not remembering had become just as damaging. And while it did matter that Spenser McCann could truly no longer reach him, the older man's death wasn't going to be some automatic magical solution either.

Steve was still hesitating too and mentally kicking himself for it. He was proving the change in his friend by second guessing nearly everything and not acting. The situation was mired in a delicate balance of right and wrong; of who controlled the next move. Unable to get an accurate read on his friend's current coping mechanisms, he forced himself to wait. Because, of all the possible things which might rear their heads, Steve needed Danny to initiate what happened next.

But Danny stood there too. Still uncertain. immovable and completely, uncharacteristically silent.

"What can I do to help?" Steve carefully asked. His voice had dropped to nearly that of a soft whisper, though his tone remained desperate. "I'll do anything. Whatever you need. I know you feel different; I know that you're afraid that things are going to be very different ... and the truth is, that some things might be. But I can promise you that I'm right here and that I"m not going anywhere, Danny. That's one thing that's never going to change. I'll always … _always_ … have your back and trust you to have mine."

His worry grew though as Danny's eyes closed again and he swallowed hard, his breath coming in short spurts. Steve blamed himself for allowing McCann the method to take Danny. And he blamed himself again for taking too long in being able to find his partner. He'd almost been too late and in many ways, maybe he already was too late. For a moment, Steve had a frightening thought that Danny might quit Five-0 and walk away again. This time, permanently.

Steve's fingers repeatedly clenched and unclenched while he shifted uncomfortably on his feet in the small space just watching Danny's face for any type of signal. He fought to find something else to say. But he suddenly didn't need to because a second later, Danny had stumbled forward into his arms.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry this happened, just let me be here to help. I want to help," Steve whispered as he pulled Danny in tighter, their hug growing stronger with a happy familiarity that was entirely that of the old Danny. "Please let me at least try."

Against his chest, he not only heard the faint choked sob, but then felt the nod.

"I love you, buddy," Steve bowed his head in relief and whispered into Danny's hair while he soothingly ran his hand over his friend's back. "You're good. We're good; when it comes to us, nothing has to change. I promise that nothing's ever going to change."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

_**Two days earlier** _

He'd been pouring himself yet another coffee when Duke had called, the vibration of the phone on the newly replaced smart table startling his tired mind enough to spill the entire pot on his shoes. He'd cursed at his clumsiness, thankful only that he'd not destroyed the new equipment as the hot liquid dripped from the sideboard to the floor.

"Duke. Anything?" Chin had neither the time nor the patience for prolonged pleasantries. None of them did. Danny had been missing for almost 48 hours and not a single soul had seen hide nor hair of him. Steve had been gone for hours. Thankfully Kono was with him as Chin had no doubt at all that left to his own devices the man would have the entirety of Oahu dangling from buildings by their hair until he got the answer he was looking for. Unfortunately that answer was as elusive as sleep and Chin scrubbed the tiredness from his eyes with his fingers and held his breath in hope, waiting for Duke's response.

_"Sorry Chin, we've got nothing new. That's not why I'm calling though – are you alone? Can you talk?"_

"Yeah, he's still out searching. What's up?"

_"I need you to come out to Makapu'u Point. There's a body I need you to take a look at."_

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Chin stared down at the battered body which lay on the rocks. It had been spotted by tourists visiting the lighthouse and the first officers on scene had thought suicide. It certainly looked that way from the cliff top, but tethered to the slim flat top of rock the corpse was laid on, Chin could plainly see the error in that reasoning.

The body was a mess – limbs torn and pointing at odd angles – and the head dangled like a delicate broken flower over the cliff edge; swinging gently in antithesis to the hulk of a man it was tenuously attached to. Birds had already feasted upon the eyes and torn flesh, but the one thing that stood out very clearly was the bullet wound in the back of the head. _This was no suicide._

"I know you're flat out right now, what with Danny missing," Duke said as he pulled an evidence bag from his pocket. "I would have handed it straight to homicide, except we found this in his pants."

Chin took the plastic bag from the older officer and stared at the blood-smeared business card inside.

_Det. Chin Ho Kelly, Five-0_

"Any idea why he had your business card? Or what that means?" Duke tapped the back of the card as Chin turned it over.

_I'm sorry._

_732-5577_

_Belhus_

_Leon_

"Any idea what it means?"

"Not a clue, Duke. Not a clue."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delay in posting entirely the fault of KQ and her disgusting brood of sick small people – she has almost too many to count these days and the ones that aren't sick are teething … sorry and we hope you enjoy

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Steve was blatantly looking at him as he drove. Sizing him up, measuring, wondering and of course, still worrying. To his credit though, he'd managed to keep the comments and questioning to a bare minimum as if sensing Danny was slow to re-join a more social setting. So, they hadn't spoken very much during the long drive back. When they reached their destination, Danny felt he deserved this after all too. He didn't say a word as he stared at the big house before opening the passenger door of the truck and sliding out to follow Steve to the front door. He deserved the unrelenting mollycoddling for his illicit disappearance. In fact on one level, Steve was still very angry with him for doing what he'd done, even if he did understand the necessity of wanting to be alone. Without complaint, Danny simply went along for the ride, unable to even admit that he might be relieved by his friend's decision.

"House arrest?" Danny quipped as Steve ushered him inside. It was a poor joke, yet Steve smiled, as did he.

"Humor me – at least for the night," Steve replied. "Now, get out of my sight and get cleaned up, Crusoe. You need to take a hedge clipper to that beard."

"The night? And who are you calling Crusoe?" Danny snorted softly, his eyes briefly lighting up at the continued play on some humor. "A literary reference, so you _can_ read. I'm impressed, Steven."

"Shut it, Daniel," Steve snarked back, a smile now fully in place. "By the way, when you ruin my razor, you're buying me a new one."

"I fail to see how that works," Danny muttered in mock disgust as he ambled slowly up to the second floor. "You invited me here. You, my friend, are specifically demanding that I shave. Which means that I _have_ to use _your_ razor, since this isn't my house!"

"Just do it!" Steve hollered as Danny disappeared. "And ... get your skinny ass back down here when you're done ... you're going to eat a decent meal!"

Danny smirked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Being here, in a home, was different than the small precinct's common bathroom. He still looked the same though. Tired, drawn and incredibly unkempt. Still very much unlike himself.

"Crusoe," Danny muttered again, a tiny smile quirked the side of his mouth as he pulled at the scruff. "Maybe." The look didn't quite suit him entirely and in that moment, he truly didn't recognize himself. He looked ages-old and terribly worn down. He needed to get himself back and starting with a shave would be a fine first step.

Especially with Spense dead.

"He's dead," Danny whispered to his reflection. He stared at himself intensely, his eyes eventually glazing over as he thought about Spenser. He unconsciously ran his fingers over his lips, top and then bottom. They were dry now and even chapped from the sun, but they hadn't been with Spense. Danny shivered at a memory, his eyes sliding closed as he felt Spense's mouth on his own. Wet, moist and creating bruises as he almost punished him with his teeth and breathed demands into his open mouth.

_"Kiss me, Danno. Kiss me back and mean it ... or, I'll do another time check. Kiss me."_

He could still feel the man's tongue as it prodded his lips open and probed deeper despite his weak protests, scented with expensive brandy and then later, tainted with his own blood. Insistent and taking him to a heady, bad place while roughened hands roamed lower to slide possessively beneath his pants.

"I hate you," Danny breathed out so softly he barely made a sound and it didn't take long for a feeling of hatred to rekindle inside his chest. His face hardened again as the anger reflected directly back into his eyes as they sprung open. Tired, bloodshot and wholly angry.

"You're dead. You. Are. _Dead_."

"Who's dead?" Steve replied from the doorway. "Danny? Who's dead?" He was holding clean towels, a change of clothes and a football, of all things. Based upon his expression, he was scared by what he'd heard and quite unsure if his friend was speaking about himself on some personal level.

"Spense," Danny rasped out. He was upset and nowhere close to being able to hide his flux of emotions. He turned towards Steve, his eyes huge and glassy. "Spense is dead and I never even asked you how?"

Steve heaved in a deep breath, his exhale loud and still showing his depth of concern for what he'd heard. Especially for what he first thought when he heard the angrily hissed words … and now Danny felt he was ready to hear about Spenser McCann.

 _Spense_. Another bee in Steve's bonnet because, for some reason, his partner insisted on referring to the maniac by his first name. Regardless, any such discussion would only lead to another and so, stomach in knots, Steve bit his tongue and deflected.

"After. After you get cleaned up. Over lunch. I've got a few things to fill you in on, Danno," he gently prompted. "You'll feel better after you take a shower."

Danny stared at his friend, unsure what it was he was trying so desperately to hide from him. He opened his mouth with every intention of finding out right then and there, but shut it just as quickly. Steve was right. He was a veritable mess and whatever information his partner was having trouble verbalising wouldn't be changing in the time it took to have a shower. Maybe – just maybe – he would even feel a little better afterwards. Danny sighed in resignation.

"Ok, but what the hell is that for?" Danny gestured to the football, one eyebrow raised in confusion.

"This? Don't you recognise Wilson? I thought you might need some company in the shower …"

"Asshole."

"I love you too, Danno."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

_**Three days earlier** _

Chin stalked into the hospital, a man on a mission. No-one had heard from Danny since Steve left him speaking to Grace the evening before. Steve had completely lost the plot this time. If he was out of his mind the first time he realised Danny was missing, this time he'd gone nuclear. The man was rampaging around HPD HQ barking orders and demanding the entire island – _islands_ – be turned upside down and inside out. Immediately, if not before. Kono and Duke were doing their best to corral him and keep him occupied with organising the search, because the face he wore was full of murderous intent and they all knew his next stop would be the SICU and Spenser McCann … If he made it that far, the man would surely leave in his own steel bracelets, provided he hadn't broken himself again from the exertion first.

Chin hadn't needed to utter a word. One look to his cousin was all it had taken. She knew _exactly_ his game plan and had simply stepped in to distract their boss from his hasty retreat.

They had all been worried when Danny hadn't responded to calls and texts, but the man was exhausted and clearly needed some alone time to simply … _process_. Steve being Steve had become increasingly irate though at his partner's silence and it was his state of anxiety that ramped up concern even more than the lack of contact. They had humored his request to ping Danny's phone, simply because it kept him from barrelling straight round to see if the man was home. The intensity of Danny's known trauma had been bad enough. The last thing he needed was a suffocatingly protective SEAL barging in to consume whatever personal space he had reclaimed as his own before he was either in actual trouble or ready to let the man in. The problem was, the phone was switched off. They were unable to locate it and that had been the final straw for their over-anxious boss. They'd driven to Danny's place together, Chin behind the wheel of Steve's truck. Chin had brooked no argument in that regard, with the younger man still healing from two recent abdominal surgeries. There was no way he was driving like a maniac without even the ability to stand on the brake effectively. Steve had cursed the entire way about the speed and aggressiveness of Chin's driving and – much like the day they found Danny – had left the vehicle before it was even stationary in the driveway. He'd managed to at least show enough restraint to use the key, but after a search of the house and surroundings had come up empty, the dark cloud that followed Steve around had descended in earnest.

No-one had seen Danny - none of the neighbours knew he was even at home. The owner swore he'd not been to the local store, nor did he appear on any of the surveillance footage. While there was no sign of foul play, none of them could help but wonder … and the name on everyone's tongue was of course, Spenser McCann.

Chin pounded on the elevator buttons, but whatever patience he had was slowly being replaced by the newly re-ignited rage burning in his belly. It was no good. The lift was taking far too long and the more time he spent waiting on it, the more angry he became. He couldn't afford anger. Not now. He had to remain calm and in control. Had to maintain the stoicism he was known for, no matter how hard that task was becoming.

Spenser had regained consciousness and been removed from the critical list within the last 12 hours and if the mercenary had indeed got anything at all to do with the re-disappearance of Danny, showing him fear or anger would get Chin absolutely nowhere. He had to remain detached and simply question the man. With a final frustrated stab at the button, Chin turned and headed for the stairs.

The exercise did him good. By the time Chin reached the SICU floor, he was feeling more in control of his emotions. He reached for the handle just as the door was flung open and a harried man in a white lab coat tore through the doorway. Chin almost flattened himself to the wall to avoid a collision, the man holding up a hand by way of an apology as he lifted his phone to his ear and continued his charge down the stairs.

Chin made his way into the SICU just as the code blue was called. He broke into a jog as his eyes scanned the hallway and noted the epicentre of the commotion, making it to McCann's room just behind the crash cart.

"What the hell happened?"

The HPD detail at the door looked just as confused as Chin … and maybe just a little relieved to see him rather than the BAMF leader of the taskforce.

"I, uh … I don't know," the young officer stumbled over his words before pointing up the corridor the way Chin had just come. "The doc was just here and Mr. McCann was fine and then he just kinda screamed this weird scream and started seizing …"

"Which doc? His doc is right there," Chin's eyes narrowed as he watched the medical team resuscitating McCann's now lifeless body.

"Err … the other one. Kamahi, I think his name was?" The officer frantically searched through his pocket book for his log. "Yeah, Doctor Kamahi. Said he was a surgeon."

"I want this entire hospital locked down," Chin ground out. He had personally vetted every one of the medical staff with permitted access to the mercenary and Dr Kamahi certainly wasn't one of them. "NOW!"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry … I thought …"

"We'll discuss what you did or didn't think later. Once you've got this place locked down I want you to get over to the security office and find me that doctor on security tape. Go!"

As the officer scurried away, Chin hit the speed dial on his phone. This was not good. The call connected just as McCann's _actual_ doctor called time of death. _Shit_.

"Max? It's Chin. I'm gonna need you to make a house call …"

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

He couldn't find a single thing which would set his world right on its perpetually tilted axis. Steve had broken the news to him first. Yet now staring at the medical examiner's report and then the associated pictures, Danny was once more stunned to his core. And as of late, his new response to what seemed like an out-of-control life was total silence. With a curt shake of his head, he held up his hand to prevent Max Bergman from a pending recitation that would further compound the dead man's identity.

Danny knew Leon. He knew Leon only too well.

"Detective?" Max questioned, confused by the silent request to simply _not speak_. "But, if I may provide more ...?"

"It's okay, Max," Steve said in a lame attempt to soothe the doctor's somewhat ruffled feelings. "He knows. It's just not a good time to get into all of the details." His eyes never left his partner's face and he found himself scowling, and then hurrying to catch up as Danny stalked out of the M.E.'s office.

"Why didn't I know he was INTERPOL? What the hell is _wrong_ with me?" Danny muttered angrily. He rubbed both hands over his face, completely frustrated with himself for being so unbelievably stupid. Of course, Leon would have been an undercover agent. The facts were so incredibly obvious, Danny felt like screaming his ignorance out loud.

The truth regarding Spenser McCann's untimely demise was startling enough. But this ... _this_ , with finding Leon? He didn't understand and was unable to reconcile the man's death in his mind. In his ever-growing sense of depression, Danny wasn't sure he knew how to cope anymore.

"Who the hell killed him? What did LaRouche say about it?"

"Actually, nothing," Steve replied as gently as possible. The first question was entirely rhetorical and Steve didn't even try to answer it. They didn't know who had entered the hospital to kill McCann – the mysterious Doctor Kamahi had simply vanished without trace – nor did they know who had similarly taken out INTERPOL's undercover agent, Leon Morris. With Leon's body so devastated by both the elements and the fall, Max couldn't even propose an estimated time of death.

"Typical. Did she ever tell you why?"

"Why what, Danny?"

"Why they left me in there _so long_ when they knew … they _knew_ what that man was … doing?" Danny paled as he spoke the words. The very same words which had left Steve's mouth after he first discovered they had Leon on the inside.

"I don't know, Danny. I wish to God I did, but I don't." Steve's anger at the whole situation resurfaced – the 'aneurism face' he wore telling of the stress bubbling beneath the surface like a volcano. "She's all about the mission, not the real people on it. It's all ends justify the means with her and she apparently doesn't give a shit who gets fucked over along the way …" Steve realised too late that his choice of words sucked, as Danny darted through the fire door and emptied his stomach into the shrubbery.

"Shit, Danny – I'm sorry … I didn't mean … I … _shit_ …"

Danny stood, hands on his knees and eyes watering as he spat the last of his lunch into the bushes. "S'ok."

"No, it's not. I'm sorry." Steve wasn't exactly sure where to put himself. He wanted to comfort his friend, but his dire choice of words had just proven how far from okay the man still was. For all their earlier banter, the elephant was still firmly planted in the room and Steve mentally kicked himself for allowing the slip. As his partner wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, Steve was fidgeting and sweating like a cat on hot bricks.

"It's ok, Steve."

"No, it isn't."

"You're right, but it's not your fault and I don't want … _this_ ," Danny waved his arm toward his fumbling partner. "I don't want this to become the new normal. Please, Steven, would you just _relax_? It's hard enough without you being on tenterhooks all the time, worrying about saying the wrong thing."

Steve stood in silence.

"So I guess LaRouche is just a cold, heartless bitch then, huh?" The small smile that pulled at the edge of his lips was enough to break the tension, even if it didn't reach his eyes. Steve visibly deflated as he nodded in agreement. "Well then I guess it was a good thing I had Leon in my corner, poor bastard."

"She's not even sent anyone to ID the body."

"Well then we need to find out who killed him …"

"Danny, I'm not sure that's such a good idea…"

"Oh? Why? It's not like Spense can hurt me anymore," Danny could almost hear his partner growl and he held up a hand to forestall the objection. "I'm serious, Steve. Leon was the one person in there who looked out for me at all."

Steve huffed and crossed his arms.

"He did … _something_ … and I … I don't know, I feel I owe it to him to do something in return. Whatever the man did while he was under, it wasn't Leon who really hurt me and I think … I think he tried to save me."

"You don't _owe_ any one of them _anything_. But you're right. He did try to help you. But Danny?" Steve waited for his partner to meet his gaze completely before continuing. "You are neither well enough or distant enough to look into this right now. Who knows what kind of rabbit hole it could throw you down. I _promise_ you, it will be looked into … just not by you, okay? Please?"

"Fine. But you're not a hundred percent yourself."

"The cousins then, okay?"

"Okay."

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	34. Chapter 34

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"I kissed him back," Danny admitted softly. As the sun disappeared into the horizon, the two of them lounged in Steve's Adirondack chairs, relaxing to the sound of the waves on the beach. Danny picked at the label of his longboard – the first he'd had since leaving the hospital. Steve didn't say a word, just waited his friend out the same way he had many times over the past few days. As expected, his friend continued in almost a whisper.

"With his hand on my dick and his tongue in my mouth, I kissed him back ... like I meant it. And I'm wondering ... sometimes ... just maybe, if I did. At least, part of me seemed to want to. But he knew just how to touch ... exactly what to do ... and it worked."

"He gave you no choice," Steve said. He looked to the ocean, unable to look directly at Danny until the conversation simply stopped. He was sick to his stomach by Danny's ongoing turmoil and the intermittent one-sided conversations that were more like confessions. He wanted to argue and then punch the nearest thing in frustration as he watched Danny resort to that overly quiet place once again. He took a deep breath, digging his nails into the arm of the Adirondack to relieve his own stress as he attempted to keep the mood light. His friend needed that – a safe place to let it all out. Steve wanted to give him that – hell, he owed him that much … if he hadn't allowed McCann to lure Danny …

The clink of the bottle on Danny's teeth as he took a long draft pulled Steve from his reverie.

"You were heavily drugged and he used Grace to control you ... to _hurt_ you ... to keep you in line and to get what he wanted."

"What did he want though?" Danny murmured softly. The question at the heart of the matter never changed; but neither did Steve's resolute response. The painful _why me_ was a constant which no one could successfully battle. The persistent reminder that Danny's choice had been revoked lacked similar import.

As the familiar but ugly dance continued, it was now Danny's turn to look away, lost in thought as he stared into the dark. Completely void of emotion as he came full circle again.

"And why me, huh? Why the hell did he want _me_?"

It was as Steve had first assumed; Danny remembered more than he'd originally let on. And despite some vast improvements in Danny's overall outlook, he even wondered if the therapist even really knew or understood the soul deep pain and how it lingered. True, that much of Danny's memory was splintered and realistically fraught with a great deal of error, but he did remember things – almost all of which Steve ached for him to _forget_.

"He would have been in for a hell of a surprise," Steve whispered. "If he'd lived that is."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Danny instantly objected. "There's so much that I don't remember. And yet, so much that I do ... it's not fair."

"No, it isn't," Steve lamely replied, at a loss as to help. It wasn't and might never be all right again, proven by the stricken and exasperated look aimed his way. "It's okay."

"Is that all you got for me?" Danny blurted quietly. "It's … _okay_?"

"But it is okay, Danny," Steve insisted, suddenly unable to stop his mouth. "It doesn't matter either. You weren't ever going to need - or use - those memories anyway."

Danny's jaw dropped open, the hinge rotating left and then right before closing with an almost audible snap. He winced at the motion since it still hurt his neck so badly. "And is that nugget of incredibly stupid wisdom, also your surprise?"

"No," Steve whispered, his mood and tone changing on a dime. "No. _That_ is entirely different."

"Oh," Danny replied softly. "Different." He was still stunned as he rolled what Steve had said last around on his tongue and then mentally chewed through each word. He was barely listening now because the concept was entirely intriguing. After being so possessed by an obsessive need to know, now he was considering the exact opposite. Why did he need to remember if he'd never need - or use - such terrible memories?

"As for the first thing, McCann would have been surprised," Steve repeated, a fond smile teasing his lips as he read the exhaustion in his friend's eyes. "Don't you want to know why? Aren't you just the least bit interested?"

"No. Maybe," Danny quietly admitted. On the fringes of that exhaustion were the threat of frightful dreams and vague demons. Those things were why Steve refused to leave Danny alone and very much reason for his friend's continued reluctance to eat or sleep. Therefore in a remarkable change of course, Steve was about to intentionally push Danny's buttons and by doing so, he hoped for a laugh. He prayed that if he succeeded, Danny would try to get some rest instead of fighting his body's needs.

"No. But you're going to tell me anyway, aren't you?" Danny sighed tiredly, his eyes closing in surrender to Steve's ongoing need to prove some senseless point or another. He'd been trying to make him feel better for the bulk of the day, but he simply hadn't been in the mood. He was stuck inside his head - still trying to stay resolutely immersed in his misery - but his partner was refusing to let him be.

"Because, everyone knows we're already married, Danno," Steve smirked, his fingers absently toying with the blonde mess of hair which was in a bad state of affairs. Another clue in the whole muddle of reasons he knew his partner was definitely _not_ okay … yet; Danny had sorely neglected his penchant to care for his hair. He looked unkempt, rumpled and constantly fatigued.

If Danny would look in a mirror - _really look_ \- he'd just about have another fit at the unkempt knots and waves. Thinking of that - _no, knowing that as fact_ \- only substantiated Steve's own point to himself and he laughed softly before he even vocalized his next statement. Danny still hadn't batted his hand away as he intentionally finger-combed the lank blonde strands, which was a huge step.

"After all, they say it all the time. Hell, they said it before we even knew it. So it must be true, right? Face it partner, we're an old married couple and because of that, McCann never had a chance with you."

Though the comment related to McCann, in a big way, this was an entirely new subject and Danny stared up at him, his eyes as crinkled as the deep lines across his forehead. His mouth gaped open before he shook his head in mock incredulity. He coughed against the tickle of a spontaneous laugh.

"In fact, I can prove it to you. I know what you're thinking right this very second," Steve said. He held his finger up, forestalling any additional gripes from his friend. "You're thinking that it's not my fault that bastard got to you because I had no choice. You're going to say that you trust me to always have your back, Danno. Well, I tell you what … I failed you this time. When it mattered the most, I failed you and he was able to do … what he did."

Danny's mouth flapped soundlessly before it closed with an audible snap. His face colored and he found himself looking away once more; this time almost horrified. Steve was entirely correct.

"What happened isn't your fault," Danny muttered unhappily. "And no, Steven, you _definitely_ had no choice because that bastard almost killed you - twice. _Twice_!"

"So, then if you believe all of that … then it's not your fault either," Steve softly insisted, pleased with himself for finally trapping Danny inside a perfectly spun web of words.

"And, my friend, you don't need those memories. Not a single one of them, and who would know that better than me? Since, after all, we are … let's say … _committed_ to each other."

Steve grinned wildly at that, folding his arms in absolute pleasure when Danny actually smirked despite himself. He could have easily guessed the next words, too, and his grin turned into a huge smile.

"You need to be committed, Steven – to a mental institution or better yet, a zoo … you're an animal," Danny chuffed out, the cough sticking in his throat as he fought the dry, broken chuckle that made his throat ache but for a moment. The smile that finally appeared didn't quite reach his eyes, but managed to lighten the brooding gloom that lingered there.

"Besides, I wouldn't marry you if I got paid to do it," Danny objected.

"Same here, but I think it happened when neither one of us was looking," Steve shrugged, seemingly content with the concept. "So, there it is; it's already a done deal."

"Are you saying that I'm stuck with you?" Danny snarked back. "Forever?"

"And I'm stuck with you," Steve said, rolling his eyes towards the heavens. "For better or for worse."

"Well, that's just great," Danny griped, a muffled chuckle breaking free as Steve climbed to his feet.

Steve laughed out right and then planted an overly loud, chaste kiss on his friend's forehead.

However, Danny was still rolling around the intelligence of the words as his voice fell. What did he need those memories for anyway? With a soft snort, he swallowed hard at the beseeching look in Steve's eyes. A look which begged him to find some peace.

"Yeah, worse," Danny swallowed hard. Tears came forward for an entirely new reason and they caught in his throat. He shook his head to and swiped at his cheeks as Steve sank to his knees next to him, shushing him while gathering him tightly into his arms. It wasn't all right. Not even close, but it _was_ going to get better.

"Seriously?" Steve chuckled softly. "This is worse, Danno?"

"Yup," Danny's voice cracked at the lie. He was better and this was indeed so much better. But Danny fought to reconcile himself to never knowing more than he did at that very moment. He tried hard as he wrapped his arms around Steve's waist and his voice raggedly cracked around tears which became laughter.

"Definitely worse … this is definitely worse."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	35. Chapter 35

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Chin watched Steve from just inside the house. He'd arrived minutes earlier yet instead of announcing himself, he stood by silently watching ... and waiting. It was full dark now but the light from the lanai was enough for him to see that Danny had fallen asleep in one of the chairs. Steve was standing by his side, empty beer bottles in hand, yet evidently deciding what to do next based upon his frequent indecisive fidgeting. Chin had to smile when the man finally felt his presence and turned on guard, wary and unfriendly until he recognized him. Steve waved then, his attitude visibly changing in an instant as he left Danny to join Chin in the doorway.

"He okay?" Chin asked as he moved aside so they could both stand in the doorway and face the long yard.

"He still barely eats and this is the first time I've seen him sleep for more than twenty undisturbed minutes. I keep waiting for the dreams to start ..." Reluctant to share much more than that - even to Chin- Steve schooled his response, "so far, he's been okay."

The truth was, Danny had been anything but. Several times now, Steve had caught him standing out of bed, terrified and trembling like a leaf in the breeze. He had been mindful in his approach, too many times had he seen his buddies lash out with deadly force, completely unaware of their surroundings, yet convinced of their imminent peril nonetheless.

It was Danny's eyes which gave him away every time; glassy and looking right through Steve as though he weren't there. Yet for all they didn't see, those same eyes caught every minute movement and fed it back to Danny's muddled mind. Feeding the terror within. Unable to physically reach out and touch him, all Steve could do was sit and softly talk to his friend until he returned to a wakeful state, gently coaching him back to reality.

"Yeah, Chin." Steve heaved in a deep breath as he tried to shake the last terrifying event from his thoughts, expelling the air in a loud rush as he offered Chin a failed attempt at a smile. "Yeah, he's okay all things considered."

"Good," Chin sighed quietly in understanding about the sketchy truth around Steve's reply. He motioned lamely towards the dark silhouette in kind attempt at offering some semblance of support. "At least he's sleeping now. He needs the rest. Everything else will come in time and we're all here to help him."

He worried as much as Steve did; in fact, each of them remained highly sensitive towards and very protective of anything related to Danny and his overall health. Even work-related discussions focusing on INTERPOL and their joint business could devolve into brusque mistrustful sessions though their relationship was indeed winding to a close. But Chin had taken his own worry down an even longer path as he folded his arms, stared at Steve and waited.

"What?" Steve scowled as he realized Chin was appraising him. "Chin, come on? What are you looking at?" The older man was inordinately quiet, definitely judging him and Steve wasn't in the mood to be criticized.

"You," Chin said the obvious. Following his bland statement with an offhand shrug to indicate that he had no intention of dropping the next subject of conversation despite the way in which Steve's eyes narrowed in displeasure. So, even though Steve's demeanor had changed once again, Chin stared him down, calmly noting the distracted expression and the tension which was keeping him so badly on edge. Rather than beating around the bush, he gently grabbed Steve's shoulder and gave him a stern shake.

"What happened to Danny is _not_ your fault," Chin adamantly whispered. "Neither one of you could have done anything differently. You've got to believe it, too, Steve."

"Yeah, well. Maybe I do," Steve muttered much to Chin's surprise. He wanted to argue and insist that the situation wasn't about him. Everything which had happened and what was going on that very moment was solely about Danny - it all _should be_ about Danny - and yet, he couldn't avoid the truth anymore. They were all much too involved to continue denying the inevitable. He more than most as his mind once again revisited the prior evening's events. Another night where he'd faced Danny's demons as some weird third party sole witness to his best friend's terror.

"It's not my fault and it's not his fault," Steve gently deflected, allowing Chin the luxury of the known story. He rubbed his free hand over his face before stalking by the Asian to toss the two beer bottles into the recycling bin. "We talked about that tonight."

He and Danny had indeed discussed that very point ad nauseum, nonetheless, there was the issue of Danny's growing post traumatic stress. There was also Steve's own ongoing feelings of self-disgust. He didn't like to lose or be bested, and Spenser McCann had done just that. And not once, but twice. But if he wanted to help his partner, Steve needed to set the stage and take his own step in the right direction. At least when it came to understanding that certain things had been out of their control.

"You do know that I feel the same way, right?" Chin added softly. "I was there the first time and I saw the first signs of what could come. I didn't recognize any one of them and it's taken me a long time to come to terms with what I couldn't control! Despite what Danny experienced back then with McCann, I still didn't get it, Steve. But none of us really did ... not even Danny for what he's gone through now."

Steve made a sound deep in his throat. Not a one of them felt less responsible than the other. Feeling responsible and apologizing - even feeling a genuine sorrow - were all important things and proved their solidarity. Listening and talking each step of the way was both painful and yet a method to heal. But more needed to be done and perhaps it was time to discuss that too. Steve was nodding in agreement as Chin logically brought up the next most likely question.

"Has he talked about coming back to work?" Chin asked. "Even part-time?"

"No," Steve replied. He pursed his lips, worry and anger warring with each other as he turned to face his friend. They had too much to conquer and since he sensed it, Danny hadn't discussed returning to work. That would come in time though. What Danny wanted now was entirely different and it came on the heels of a frightening admission after believing he was trapped back in the penthouse. And though Steve had mixed emotions about this latest request, he understood.

"He's not one hundred percent and won't be for a while, but he wants to see the crime scene reports. Then, he wants go to back to the hotel. He wants to see the penthouse."

"Wow," Chin breathed out in surprise. He hesitated for the shortest moment, his eyes wandering out to settle on Danny and where he lay sleeping in the chair. He sighed just one more time before nodding in silent agreement.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Ever since Danny had told Steve what he remembered about his attack on Spense, he'd been in a worsening emotional turmoil. Near naked, over-powered, and completely without hope, he'd been beyond desperate inside the penthouse. He remembered or thought he could still feel so many sensations which continually reared their heads whether he was awake or asleep.

Whether it was in his head or part of a terrible past reality, he could feel Spense laying across his body. He could feel the man's hands on his skin. There were smells which might tickle his nose just the wrong way and a surge of nausea would send him flying into the closest bathroom. Conversely, other things had the precise opposite affect and he found himself first embarrassed, and then very angry.

"God," Danny whispered to himself as he continued to dwell. He still didn't know what to think about his growing night terrors. Both he and Steve blamed Spenser McCann for every miserable moment. Yet he was clueless about what to believe or how to feel when he came back to himself on the floor in Steve's spare bedroom, his best friend on his knees just a few short feet away softly pleading with him that he was safe. Except for the overwhelming sense of fear and loss, he barely remembered the nightmare itself.

His eyes flickered out across the lanai, then the grassy lawn and to the sparkle of the blue water. He was oddly finding more and more peace in the quiet solitude of being at Steve's. He appreciated the beauty and quiet predictability of the ocean and its waves more and more. He briefly wondered what Steve might think of that admission, but quickly dismissed the near-humor. That particular morning, he was stuck back in his head and thinking hard on too many things.

"Stop. Just stop and find something else to think about."

No matter who he spoke to though or how he tried to coach himself, Danny couldn't make it stop. He could still feel so many different things and his brain - and sometimes his body - decided to respond. He fidgeted uncomfortably, balancing a half-full mug of coffee while mindlessly playing with the splint on his arm and closed his eyes. He'd done something to his arm that night too and he was sore. But he argued Steve's request to have it checked by the doctor. His arm was fine; hell, he was fine and could do this. Yet Danny failed immediately at the short internal pep talk as another memory flit across his mind. His forehead creased deeply and he cursed unhappily as a remembered warmth caressed his lower back.

"Fuck," he complained under his breath as he failed at disengaging himself from a painful physical pleasure which was wrong. So _wrong_ , and yet his body occasionally fought his brain against all reason.

He thought that he'd resolved himself to what he couldn't remember and was indeed desperate to move on. But there was another factor about that desperation which merely brought all his other thoughts back full circle where he'd soon settle on his worst memories. Real or not, valid or not, Danny was plagued by splintered images of things which he believed happened. The worsening dreams easily provided that. Foremost amongst all of it though was how he'd violently attacked another man in a last ditch effort to save himself. An attack with a distinct intent to _kill_.

There was a slideshow of horrifying images in his head further distorted by a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors. Nothing was perfectly clear. He couldn't remember what happened first or came after. It was all a blur until something would solidify suddenly with a brilliant clarity and he could literally _feel_ what had happened all over again. Danny could even _hear_ Spense's startled gurgle in his head. He could literally feel the softness of delicate skin ripping under the brutality of his hand as a heated warmth spilled over his fingers to dribble down his arm.

He was horrified by what he'd done. He was horrified by the level of what he'd been beaten down to. No matter if what he remembered was fact or fiction, he'd become increasingly agitated and upset.

In his head, he knew and understood the desperate nature of his actions. What he'd done was necessary to protect himself in order to create an escape. _He knew that._ He _knew_ that he'd do it again, too. But he was human and having difficulty reconciling the violence of what he'd been forced into being.

Danny wasn't entirely able to compartmentalize the way Steve could. He knew that Steve had killed Dylan. The ex-SEAL had used his knife to _dispatch the suspect_. Biting back a self-deprecating snort, Danny could almost read those clinical words in his mind's eye.

He knew what Steve was capable of and he appreciated his friend's ability to detach himself from something now more than ever before. And perhaps that wasn't an entirely fair statement because Steve would consider what he'd done. He'd evaluate and he'd rationalize it. But Danny's own ability to do the same was all simply ... different.

"Shit!" Danny startled when Steve came up behind him, spilling his coffee as his one free hand jerked. "I'm fine!" He insisted at the same time Steve cursed under his breath.

"Sorry, Danno," Steve said, angry at himself for the accidental scare. "I didn't mean ... geez, are you okay?'

"It's fine. I'm fine," Danny repeated as he wiped his fingers on his t-shirt. "I'm okay. Ready? Can we go now?"

He missed the way Steve continued to scowl though, his face dark and worried as they readied to leave for the Five-0 offices. But things were slowly coming back round there too as the building was repaired and their offices nearly restored to their former efficient levels. It made sense that Danny wanted to review Charlie Fong's final reports on the crime scene there. The entire team supported him, yet now that the day had dawned, each of them was on edge and jumpy in stressful anticipation.

"Yeah, let's go," Steve replied distractedly as he rescued the half full mug from Danny's coffee-stained fingers. His friend had barely eaten that morning and it was another indicator which he added to his ever-growing list of watchful trigger points.

"Stop worrying about me," Danny said, his chin jutting out with the tiniest of smiles lifting one side of his mouth. "I'm fine. I need to do this." With his good hand freed, he automatically cradled his other to his chest. Beyond any feelings of pain, it was an unconscious defensive move. Again, something not entirely lost on Steve.

"What? I'm not worried, Danno," Steve objected tightly as his eyes refocused on Danny's face. "And I know you do." He hadn't realized that he'd zoned out, staring at what remained of Danny's coffee, his own feet blurred below. He couldn't help worrying and he so he wound up shrugging defensively as they turned together from the lanai back into the house. He was strung though and calmed only by Danny's subsequent sarcastic chuckle.

"Whatever you say, babe," Danny snarked quietly. "But thank you."

Steve shrugged again at that sentiment because it wasn't at all necessary. He supported Danny - as they all did - there was no reason to talk him out of his decision or object. However, that still didn't alleviate a single ounce of well-placed concern.

"Whatever you need, Danno," Steve truthfully answered. "You know that; we'll all do whatever it is you think you need to do. You don't need to thank us, buddy."

"I know,' Danny muttered softly. "But ... thank you. Seriously." He rocked into Steve's shoulder, the move a partial need for contact as they readied to leave the house. He was nervous and even afraid. He needed to go and see things for himself to put evil ghosts to rest and slay his demons. He knew his team supported him wholeheartedly.

But Steve knew so much more and Danny especially appreciated his partner's unyielding vow to always have his back come hell or high water. Danny needed Steve with him this time more than ever.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	36. Chapter 36

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Are you sure he should be doing this? I mean this just seems wrong, Chin." Kono chewed on her nails as she fidgeted in place. She had run out of guns to clean and had moved on to Steve's knife collection. The armory seemed larger somehow, without decoration or paint, but it was at least functional and the rebuild was a large undertaking. At least the wiring was complete and they finally had full access to their systems – including a few … _upgrades_ … courtesy of Toast.

"He _needs_ to, Kono. For all that we look at as traumatic; to Danny it might help make sense of … everything. He lost so much. He needs this as much as he doesn't." Chin pulled his cousin into a half embrace, his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, but her body posture remained tense. Neither of them had seen Danny's nightmares, but they well knew of them. They could pretty much gauge their severity based solely on the appearance of their boss the following day. Steve had actually taken some time off – the Governor had suggested it and to everyone's surprise, he had agreed immediately. They all understood the bond between the partners, but for Steve to agree to staying away from the office, they knew it must be bad.

Kono and Chin had maintained a supportive distance. They had helped by working the loose ends out of the case with INTERPOL – or at least as many as they had been able or granted access to figuring out. Both of them got the sense that there was still more that INTERPOL were withholding, but as much as it pissed them off, they had bigger fish to fry right now. The team came first. Always. And that's what made it so hard to stand by as Danny put himself through his own personal hell.

The boys had been holed up in Steve's new office for almost three hours. They had arrived in Steve's truck – a testament to the Commander's ongoing issues with his own physical wellbeing. After two major abdominal surgeries in a week, coupled with post-surgical anaemia, fatigue and the ongoing stress and lack of sleep, Steve was exhausted. The Silverado was, quite simply, easier for him; the height alone removed the need to bend and for all the creature comforts the Camaro offered, practicality was the aim of the game right now. Danny was still off driving, owing to the splint that remained on his arm. The fact that the man could barely concentrate for more than ten minutes was neither here nor there. He was reserved and pale when he arrived, looking a mere shadow of his former self. The cousins had tried to keep the mood light – the subject of the visit was dark enough. Danny had smiled and acknowledged their effort, but it was obvious to all of them that he had needed to simply get on with what he came for.

The files had been carefully arranged on Steve's new desk by Kono and she had asked him one final time if he was sure, before retreating to the war room with Chin and leaving them to it. They had watched through the glass as Danny had situated himself first at the desk, pulling the large leather chair in close and setting the first of the files in front of him. Steve had said something and Danny had remained there, thumbing the edges of the file for a good few minutes as he listened and responded to his partner. Steve had perched on the edge of the leather couch then, allowing Danny to take his time, arms folded across his chest and hands tucked beneath them as though to stop himself from reaching out to the trembling blonde. It had taken a further five minutes or more for Danny to open the file and as he slowly turned the pages, the cousins watched what little color there was drain from his face. He had stopped several times, his hand rising to his mouth as if to check his rising nausea. Steve had remained sentry at the couch, far enough to create the illusion of distance while mere feet from where his partner plunged into the abyss.

The cousins had stood together, all at once drawn into the scene playing out before them; torn between their desire to remain and the feeling of intrusion. They had eventually moved to the armory; Kono's desire to murder – again – those responsible for their friend's torment appeased only by the relentless and detailed cleaning of her weapons. Steve had seen them go, the small nod of acknowledgement a permission almost to leave. Chin's own anger was boiling beneath the surface, newly provoked by watching as his friend had heaved into the waste basket, the triggered memory sending the man spiralling down the rabbit hole once again.

If this was their new normal, then normal sucked.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny could hardly remember the drive back to Steve's. He had been lost inside his head once more and startled at Steve's hand on his shoulder, his own rising defensively as he automatically cowered in response.

"Shit, Danny. I'm sorry," Steve withdrew his hand like he'd been burned.

"S'okay. I'm the one who should be sorry – I _keep_ doing that."

"It's understandable, Danny …"

"Would you just stop with the 'it's understandable, Danny' … 'you've been through a trauma, Danny' …" He waved his free hand in emphasis, the gesticulation almost the only part of the old Danny recognisable.

"Why? It _is_ … and you _have_ ," Steve turned in his seat to fully face his partner, the man scoffing at the words before looking away in what Steve could see was embarrassment.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Danny, but you need to own this …"

"Why, Steven? Because you said so? It's not you who has to live with this … fear … of everything. It creeps in and it's everywhere and it just _is_ … I guess it's the new me and you're just gonna have to get used to it …"

"Oh no, you don't get to give up now," Steve replied, a surge in anger driven by his own desperate feelings crept stealthily into his tone. He glared at his friend as his own frustration finally came to a head.

"At some point you're gonna have to stop letting fear drive you, D. You're gonna need to take back the wheel and steer."

"Fuck you!" Danny slid out of the seat and slammed the door to the truck – hard. "I can't even drive my own fucking car with you around and you're going to give me advice?!"

Only after he had turned toward the house did he remember it was Steve's and he hadn't a key. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning back to where his partner now stood beside his truck.

"Can we please just go inside?" he almost whispered what sounded like a plea as he balled his fingers into a fist to dispel the agitated tremble he couldn't quite control.

Steve pursed his lips, his anger changing course dramatically to match Danny's incomprehensible mood swings. He sighed heavily before adding a smile to a short agreeable nod "Sure, buddy. You want me to make you some tea?"

Danny blinked in disbelief at the banality of the question. His eyebrows pinched painfully in the middle seconds before he gave out with a startling sound which was nearly a real laugh.

"No, Steven. I do not want 'tea'. I want a cup of coffee like a _normal_ person …"

Steve's grin deepened as a bit of light entered Danny's eyes to battle the ever-present sadness. He raised his finger in triumph before pointing it directly in Danny's direction. "See, you _can_ take the wheel and drive your own life …"

The light flared anew as Danny's eyes narrowed even more at the flamboyant gesture. Not to be outdone, Danny raised his good hand in the air, rotated his fist, only to rudely raise his middle finger.

"Fuck you, _again_. Steven."

The resultant laugh was genuine as Steve followed Danny back to the front door of his house. "In your dreams, Daniel."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"No,no,no," Steve whispered fearfully as he stood in the doorway and studied the restless silhouette. A moment later, he was balanced on his toes by the side of the bed. Whispering what felt like a series of nonsensical words which barely made it over the sounds of Danny's escalating nightmare.

"Danny, you're okay. It's just a bad dream," Steve said, his voice growing stronger as his friend remained stubbornly stuck. "He can't hurt you. He's not here."

The house had been peacefully quiet. _Danny_ had been peacefully quiet for hours now and he'd almost allowed himself to relax. Craving his own bed and a decent night's sleep, Steve was now shaken by the sounds emanating from the guest bedroom.

He'd been on the way back to his room when he heard the first whimpers coming from the spare room. He had left the glass of water on the sideboard and taken up his position just inside the doorway, gently telling his best friend where he was and that he was safe; the mantra he had repeated over and over and over more times than he could count.

"Come on, buddy. Please believe me that you're safe. He can't hurt you anymore." As Danny started to tremble in earnest beneath the rumpled bedding, Steve sank to his knees beside him, his continued litany of reassurance and hope a soothing background to the choked pleas and screams that began once more.

After they had returned from the offices, Danny had been more quiet than usual despite their very brief bout of banter that had almost been like a balm.

But that short game hadn't been nearly enough to set things right. The files had triggered all kinds of memories and emotions and the man was beyond exhausted. Danny had refused to eat or drink, instead insisting on being outside to work on settling a claustrophobic mind.

After a time, Steve had managed to get him to talk at least a little and Danny had fallen into a somewhat peaceful slumber on the lanai. He had left him where he was in the hope that talking it out had helped at least a little, but that first drowsy nap had failed and Danny had woken screaming for _Dylan_ to stop. For all the horrors that Spencer had imparted, it seemed Dylan was now the nemesis of rest.

With Steve's encouragement, Danny had taken a pain killer and had shared that particular painful memory quietly over a hot cocoa – something Steve had gotten adept at making since Danny's Mom disclosed his love of it for comfort as a child. Danny had talked to his parents after he had been released from the hospital, but they had no real idea of the trauma. They knew only of his physical ails and how he had been held captive. That alone was enough, before you layered on the rest of the abuse.

And that late afternoon, the more Steve heard of that abuse, the sicker he felt himself. Had he known that revealing the crime team's official records would have prompted such an horrific memory based in factual evidence collected at the second crime scene, Steve would never have allowed the event to occur.

Full of remorse and devastated for his best friend, Steve had dutifully schooled his expressions and his responses, of course. He wouldn't – couldn't – let Danny see how badly the shared memories shook him. Danny needed an outlet and Steve was happy to oblige. He owed him that. He'd been trained to withstand mental torture … but this was so much worse and for one of the first times in his life, Steve wasn't sure he knew how to help his friend.

In that final, filthy hovel of a room Danny had been chained in, Dylan had finally done what Spenser couldn't. He had made his best friend cum in his hand … and _laughed_. Steve had heard that laugh himself and it were as if the man was possessed by the devil, pure evil that wormed its way inside your head and infected your brain until you could hear nothing but that maniacal laugh. He had beaten Danny before strangling and reviving him repeatedly and it was in those lucid moments in between that he had been the most cruel. He had taken Danny's cock, teased and pulled it so hard it hurt ... and then he had made him cum. He'd left him then, only to return hours later to replay the same living hell ... only this time he used what Danny thought to be a woman's hair tie as a makeshift cock ring. His partner's body had betrayed him by continually responding to both the stimulation and the breath play and yet Dylan hadn't allowed him to ejaculate. Danny had begged and cried – for himself, for his daughter … and for Steve. He thought each time that he was going to die and then Dylan had simply stopped, ripped off the hair tie, unshackled him and ordered him to "move". For all that the memory was horrific, it wasn't the most bothersome piece of the puzzle for him though. What bothered his best friend the most was the memory of his own release during what he'd believed to be Dylan's demise. He was inconsolable and had quite literally cried himself to sleep in the knowledge that he had ejaculated whilst killing somebody.

"Danny, it's me. It's Steve," he repeated. His own voice was now roughened by stress and tears as he failed in budging Danny from the escalating terror. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Try to wake up. Try to hear me," Steve coached again and again. "He's gone. He can't hurt you … I promise. He's not here. He's gone, Danno."

As he knelt beside the bed, the knowledge of what had been done to Danny replayed over and over in his head and, in his fatigued state, Steve reached out to comfort his friend as he began to scream once more. He realised too late his error in judgement, as a fist made contact with his face and Danny threw himself from the bed to land straight on top of him.

"I'm g-going … t-to kill … you," Danny panted harshly. Eyes wild, he stared down at Steve. Unseeing and yet seeing at the same time, he was desperate to escape the horrors inflicted on him by Dylan Walker. In his head, he was back in the filth of that small room. Held down, powerless, abused and taunted. He had to get out … he had to win. He whined deeply in his throat as a remembered pain simultaneously stole his ability to breathe and twisted his gut. Danny raised his good hand, oblivious to the pain he was causing himself as he forced the one with the splint to grab the neck of his adversary in a death-grip.

"K-kill … you!" Danny ground out desperately as he let another punch loose, followed by another and another. Unimpeded, he simply continued in an uncontrollable rage spurned by an ingrained hatred.

As Danny sat astride his best friend and pummelled him mercilessly, he saw only Dylan. He wanted only to repeatedly kill him and _prove_ to himself that murder was not a turn-on for him. He wanted to destroy the man who'd caused him so much mind-numbing fear and had so cruelly debased him.

"Danny!" Steve gasped in pain as Danny's fist made it though his hands. He tried to curl himself into a tighter ball to evade the worst of it, but Danny wouldn't let him as another blow rocked his head.

Steve didn't retaliate – it was his fault … he had lured his friend to the mercy of both McCann and Walker … and now it was his own hand that had triggered his murderous attack. Any defence would feed the fear, so Steve simply curled up as best he could, covered his head with his arms and repetitively begged his partner to hear him …

"Danny … its Steve … wake up … _please_ …"

_**~ to be continued ~** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're blaming the international Christmas Elf (the dude that never stays on his shelf) for what occurs next. Seems this elf has a penchant for causing trouble and wreaking havoc.


	37. Chapter 37

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

A deep physical pain, sharp and debilitating, brought Danny out of the dissociative violence of his nightmare as one punch, and then another, roughly jarred his fractured wrist. He cried out and lurched sideways onto one hip and folded nearly in half, eyes wedged shut and his injured arm clutched tightly to his chest.

He rocked in place moaning at the unrelenting pain, breathless and unquestioning of his state until he managed to peer blearily down at his bloodied knuckles. The splint was no longer sound and under its once protective veneer, the still healing bone throbbed. Only then did his brain try to divest itself of the horrifying dream as his blurry vision and mangled thoughts slowly began to bring him back to the present.

Shaking badly, Danny snuffled and coughed as he became more aware of his surroundings … and of the deathly still shape which lay under his left leg. He blinked wildly as a new found fear bubbled to the surface, his eyes suddenly stricken as surprise quickly turned into shock.

"Steve?" Danny barely croaked his friend's name out. Huddled on the floor by Steve's side, Danny continued to buffer his arm to his body. But the almost unrecognizable face of his friend clarified with a vengeance.

For a long moment, Danny was unable to move. Appalled by what he was seeing, he mutely studied his left leg which was sloppily out-stretched and draped heavily over Steve's thigh. His right leg was tucked uncomfortably under him and yet, he simply sat there staring.

The resultant mournful sound was long in coming to the surface. But when it finally broke free, his stunned reverie was fraught with a tragic sense of dread and loss.

"Steve? _Steven_?" Danny choked out, the bubble of fear bursting into a tidal wave of panic as he crawled away from his friend. Lurching awkwardly on one hand and both knees, he hit the opposite wall where he collapsed into in a horrified huddle. There, he stared again, unable to take his wide eyes off the unmoving body.

Steve lay partially on his side, his head slightly turned towards Danny's trembling frame, hands limply outstretched, fingers open and still. His badly battered face was pock-marked by swelling and a myriad of multicolored bruises. Blood ran freely from his nose, lips and the seam of his left eye which was already swollen completely shut.

"No, no, no, no, no … _please no_ ," Danny pulled his knees even further towards himself as he cowered against the wall, hands splayed to push back the hair at his temples before grasping it firmly and pulling so hard it hurt. He could barely see through the tears which welled in his eyes, pupils so dilated in fear even the dim light in the room made him squint.

 _What did you do, Danny my boy? Did you kill him too?_ Spenser taunted him from beyond the grave. Danny could see him sitting so calmly on the plush penthouse sofa. Polished to perfection, he sat there smiling as he casually rocked one knee over the other, a snifter of brandy in hand. But then he sneered and grabbed his crotch, palming himself to hardness. In Danny's mind, the mercenary leaned forward in anticipation, his tongue snaking out to wet his lips.

_You should never have come back to him, petal. You're mine._

"NO! Shut up! You're not even _real_ ," a small near-hysterical laugh escaped him as he tucked his knees beneath his chin and rocked slowly back and forth; pulling at his hair with one hand while striking his head with the other to rid his mind of Spenser's voice.

Danny didn't know what to do. Wracked by tremors which literally shook him down to his very bones, it took him minutes on end to even consider finding a phone to make one call for help. By then though, tears were streaming down his face and his ability to form a single cohesive sentence had fled him.

"Chin," Danny moaned the simple monosyllable. "M'sorry."

He was openly crying now, hardly able to hear let alone be able to answer Chin's increasing attempts to calm him or ask even the simplest of questions.

"Help," Danny coughed as the rough taste of bile rose high in his throat and a wave of nausea left him dizzy. Shattered by what he'd done, his eyes were drawn to Steve's silent body and he sobbed heavily, his next words a barely recognizable plea. "Chin … please. Help. _Help ... him_."

His stomach twisted, then spasmed in pain and he choked just before he dry-heaved. In a panic, Danny dropped the phone and moaned loudly as another cramp rippled through his belly. On his knees and with his arms now tucked against this new pain, he scissored in half, his forehead connecting against the wood floor with a solid thud.

"Help. God, _please_ help me," Danny repeatedly begged as more tremors wracked his body and sweat soaked his shirt.

He was done. He had nothing left. Both Dylan Walker and Spenser McCann had indeed won.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"What the hell happened, Steve? He took you down?" Chin hissed between clenched teeth as he leaned over Steve's gurney in the emergency room. "Danny did quite the number on you."

His friend was a mess - from the closed eye to the blood which had yet to stop flowing from the jagged cut in its outside corner. He'd not long roused in the hospital, confused and out of sorts. Completely argumentative until the medical staff had at least allowed Chin in to see him.

"I … I let him," Steve insisted, speech slurred owing to the swelling of his lips and jaw. "I m'de … a m'stake … then I let him. Wh'r 's he? I need to … see him … 'snot his fault …"

"Bullshit," Chin argued, his eyes widening at Steve's subsequent request. "You _let_ him do this to you? Steve ..."

"At f'rst," Steve interrupted. His voice was ragged from pain and emotion, nonetheless he was adamant about what he'd initially tried to do. Before he could explain himself though, he gasped in pain. His eyes slid shut as the medical staff rushed around him, poking and prodding what seemed like the most painful parts of his body. Heaving in a carefully panted breath of air, Steve whispered what he urgently needed to say to Chin.

"I did. At f'rst … but he didn't stop. He couldn't _stop_ and … and then … it was too late."

"Too late? Too late for what exactly? For you to _neutralize him_ \- is that what you're implying?" Chin was upset regardless of the stilted explanation and getting louder as he jockeyed for room next to where Steve was laid out for the medical staff.

"This isn't a game! This is more than you can handle," Chin said. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration as he was forced a few steps away from Steve. He raised his hand in defence against Steve's automatic dismissal. "It's more than you can handle ... and it's damned obvious Danny's not handling what happened at all, despite the department therapist."

"I know it's not … a damn'd game, Chin," Steve pushed out, his teeth now clenched tightly as his abdomen and ribs were gently palpated. Tears pricked his eyes and he barely suppressed a moan as medical staff pressed the ultrasound probe deeper, stealing his breath and his composure for just a moment. He batted at the oxygen mask as it was brought to his face; for all that he was now struggling, he needed to know one thing. "Wh'r the hell … is he, Chin?" He caught Chin's expression and easily realized what he was going to say before the words were even spoken.

"Chin? Wh'r?"

"We don't know," Chin confirmed, shaking his head in near defeat. "He called me in a panic and I could barely understand a single word he said. He wasn't in the house when the first units arrived ... a BOLO's been issued ... Kono's looking for him."

Steve's face crumpled a second before he vainly tried to lurch upwards. Multiple hands kept him firmly in place though, as well as Chin's alarmed shout of denial.

"Steve! Just ... stop ... enough!" The Asian shouted as he pushed his way back to Steve's side. "Listen to me!"

He fisted Steve's shirt, his expression full of warning, his nose almost touching that of the younger man's. He switched gears when Steve finally dropped back, utterly spent but his attention locked firmly on his face.

"Steve," Chin gently enquired. "Danny took your truck ... Steve, was your gun in the lock box?"

Steve paled at the question and the fear in his eyes alone turned Chin's stomach. The intent of his question was quite obvious and Steve's mouth simply gaped open soundlessly in response before his body tensed again.

"No," Chin commanded as he gripped the younger man's shoulder like a vice, pressing him firmly back down to the gurney. "Just answer me. Was your gun in the lock box?"

"He wouldn't do that," Steve objected. His extreme distress clearly confirming the answer, his voice frayed and nearly lost inside the organized chaos of the examination room. "Chin. He ... _wouldn't_."

"Steve, ..." Chin's tone was hollow, but his grip on Steve's shoulder suddenly tightened in earnest just before he was pushed aside for good. "We'll find him, Steve. We'll find him."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	38. Chapter 38

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

After managing the frantic call to Chin, Danny stumbled to his feet blindly, making decisions without rhyme or reason. The keys to Steve's truck simply appeared in his hand. Yet, he chose to leave his shoes behind in lieu of his bottled medication. Tears were streaming down his face and he was driving erratically towards the main highway as dawn slowly brightened the sky with still no more than the thought of getting away from everyone and everything on his mind. Never before had he run away from something. Not even in his worst moments with his now ex-wife and just before his divorce. The one time he thought that he might try, his brother had tracked him down and helped keep his head screwed on right. But this time. _This time._ Danny was entirely on his own and he deserved nothing more. There was no brother left to beat some sense into him - by blood or otherwise. He'd ruined that by doing the beating himself and very likely _killing_ his best friend in an uncontrollable fit of rage.

The sob which broke through buried Spense's laugh which cackled inside Danny's head, but it didn't bury it nearly deep enough. "Fuck!" He gasped, his heart lunging upwards into his throat as he over-corrected the pickup truck when the sharp lights of a car traveling in the opposite direction flashed its high beams directly into his face. A second later, Danny realized his mistake as a crippling pain travelled up his forearm with a sickening intensity. His hand completely slipped off the wheel and he almost lost total control of the truck as the fingers of his injured arm tingled to numbness. The truck skidded wildly as it hit the shoulder and Danny nearly panicked, all skills gone as trembling hands and searing pain made holding the steering wheel steady impossible.

"Fuck ... _fuck_! Fuck!" He sobbed around his shouted words, tears blinding his vision even further as he managed – more by luck than judgement – to help the truck keep its tires on macadam … and then only by a hairs-breadth. Tires squealed and churned up dirt and rocks peppered the passenger side of the truck, yet he wouldn't slow down or consider stopping. Instead, he tucked his aching arm into his chest and drove on without a destination or plan in mind. Shock and adrenalin kept him moving, but fear ruined any ability to think beyond his nose. This time, Danny had destroyed everything he'd ever held dear. He couldn't move beyond the terrifying images in his head, nor the simple fact of what he'd just done to Steve … he'd likely murdered his best friend … and it could so very easily have been his daughter. Turned inside out and entirely beaten down, Danny only wanted to run as far away as possible.

He pulled over onto the shoulder just once after that near miss, not only because of his arm, but also because a small voice demanded that he not be found. That voice made him disengage the GPS in the big truck at the same time it dimly recognized Steve's spare pistol. A weapon he should have - a weapon he _needed_. So he took that too and shoved it deeply into the waist-band of his pants – along with a full clip – before he climbed back into the driver's seat.

Danny's driving eventually slowed, though he was no less erratic. Nor had his emotions begun to calm in the slightest. The only thing which kept him from being caught was the abysmally early hour and the fact that he was now fully off any well-travelled grid. The sound of his breathing filled the cabin of the truck, each breath on the dangerous verge of hyperventilation. Scarcely able to function, he remained lost, confused and desperate. Clearly by accident, he drove north and surprised himself by parking at the lone HPD outpost he'd visited once before. The same small satellite office where the elder officer – Kama – had brought him, after finding him traipsing down the road. The building was dark and obviously empty as he killed the engine and sat there silently, still shaking and breathing heavily, his face damp from tears and sweat.

There was one thing he did know though; he didn't want to be there.

He also didn't want _people_ or to be seen by a single soul. With his bad arm cradled to his chest, Danny's eyes wandered quickly from the small parking lot to the empty building and then out towards the quiet road. However, the coolness of the solid metal shape shoved in his waistband pulled his attention. A kernel of an idea formed and he was out of the truck a moment later, leaving the driver's door wide open and the keys in the ignition. Focused on one small goal, he started his shambled, barefoot walk towards the tiny beach-head he'd found, because _it_ would be good there.

Only then did he truly realize what he was thinking and that same quiet voice approved. _It_ was the only way now to put an end to his misery. _It_ would keep those he loved safe, because he could no longer be trusted.

He hated himself and therefore, he should be hated in kind. He couldn't be _loved_ anymore for what had been done to him and so much worse now ... for what _he'd_ done to Steve. Barefoot and alone, Danny shuffled purposefully, going further and deeper along a vaguely familiar path until he found the small off-shoot amongst the ferns. The shady trail was narrow and pebbly, and now that he found himself there, it felt entirely right.

He bruised his feet and kept going despite the occasional mis-step or stubbed toe until he came out on the tiny spit of land. There, as the sun began to rise in earnest in an orange and red sky, Danny sank to his knees, wended his arms tightly around his upper body, and cried.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"This is out of your hands. Now think! Where would he go?" Chin ground out. Three hours had gone by and Kono had had no luck. Chin had finally been allowed back in to see Steve and he was taking full advantage of that time. Not that he'd get far, but the issue was of course Steve's desire to check himself out against medical advice. Again. Chin was taking that into his own hands as he aimed a disgusted look at his boss. The man could barely see out of one eye where two tiny stitches had been needed to close the cut on the outside edge. Badly bruised ribs, hairline fractures of both his jaw and his orbit, a concussion - as well as numerous contusions - added to the list. Those were minor though compared to the added damage done to his still healing abdominal injuries. There, the doctors had focused much of their concern, demanding that the ailing Commander stay completely off his feet and rest for the foreseeable future. He was to remain under close observation, lest he begin to bleed in earnest once more. That, apparently, was a distinct possibility if he failed in following his doctors' orders once again – a fact made abundantly clear by the entirety of his medical team … to his entire team, including the Governor.

"No can do, Steve. We're _not_ having this conversation," Chin insisted, arms folded firmly to quell any attempts at argument. There was zero way he'd aid and abet him in such a foolish cause. Yet one look at Steve's face confirmed that he also knew his limitations and he was dutifully staying precisely where he was - bedridden and under doctors care.

"He took your truck ... and left before we got to your place. The GPS has been disabled and there's no sign of him on any of the traffic cams. Kono lost sight of him much too quickly and now he's off the grid. In his state of mind, where do you think he'd wind up going?"

At a loss to find a fast answer, Steve uselessly shook his head. Things had continued to devolve at a startling rate and he simply couldn't think beyond the fact that Danny had disappeared and couldn't be found. They'd done this before for reasons which were far too familiar, and his partner could be invisible if he desired. Danny had proven that with an incredible ease and he was proving it again. Even though he wasn't thinking clearly, he'd already started well down that dangerous road.

"He can't be just _gone_ , Chin," Steve uselessly complained, speech still slurred owing to the swelling of his face and jaw. He'd said that before, too. However this time, his fear had skyrocketed. He didn't know where Danny had gone. He couldn't even guess. And worse yet, Steve truly didn't know what Danny might do, because he'd been second guessed every step of the way.

Danny wasn't only in a more tenuous mental state, he was more mobile. He'd actually left the house and _taken his truck_. And Steve's damned truck was a gun-lovers' treasure trove. Something which Chin had reminded him of only recently and they were all petrified of what might happen next.

"I don't know," Steve whispered. But then he hesitated, his face briefly brightening with an idea. Even as slim as it might be, the possibility existed. Danny liked that one peaceful overlook where he often sat for hours if he needed space. Steve had found him there time and again simply sitting while he tried to settle anxious thoughts. In the days following his return from Colombia he'd found him there several times, his dreams having chased sleep from his grasp.

"The overlook," he slurred. "Try that. Tell Kono ... that there's a chance he went out there."

Chin frowned angrily as his cell phone vibrated at the same time he was about to contact his cousin. The look in his eyes only spelled worry though as he recognized the phone number from a different precinct.

"Shit," Chin breathed softly as he hastily accepted the call and then briefly ignored Steve's query as he speed dialled Kono, his succinct delivery meant for both. "Kono where are you? Officer Kamalaninui found Steve's truck at that small satellite office. Keys were in the ignition and there's no sign of Danny. Get over there and start a grid search."

"We don't know where that beach exactly was," Steve muttered angrily as he realized the intelligence of the move. He cursed under his breath now that it seemed so incredibly obvious. "We never asked him ... we never asked him where he'd been. It hadn't been important. God _dammit_ , Chin, there's miles of beach there!"

"Danny can only walk so far, Steve, and Kama can tell us where he and his partner picked him up. Kono's twenty minutes out from their office. She'll find him," Chin vowed as he, too, started moving.

"I'm about an hour behind, but I'll meet her out there. Hang tight. I promise ... we'll find him"

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	39. Chapter 39

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Kono's heart was in her mouth as she carefully navigated her way along the trail, picking up speed as her feet tried to keep up with her racing mind. She had arrived at the satellite station a mere sixteen minutes after Chin's call and as she had exited her vehicle the smell of brake pads and tire rubber that assaulted her nostrils had proven her haste. Kama was direct and to the point; the older officer clearly recognising her distress and opting for simple facts over pleasantries.

Kono's hands had trembled as she opened Steve's lock box, terrified of what she might find … or find to be missing. Inside were Steve's trusted SIG, his H7K SMG and Mk 18, as well as a handful of grenades, six knives and a small flare gun. The man was – quite literally – a walking, talking advert for Guns n Ammo, but she had sighed in relief at the presence of the weapons.

After securing Steve's truck, Kama had driven them both to the point at which Danny had originally stumbled back to civilisation. They had abandoned the patrol car in favour of feet and had continued the way Danny had seemingly come from that first time, scouring the verges and undergrowth for signs of disturbance. It had been Kama who had spotted the single footprint in the soft verge. Their pace had quickened then until Kono had noted the bent branch at the head of a little-used trail. She had looked to the older officer with hopeful determination and he had signalled for her to go on ahead, reaching for his phone to call Chin with an update – the radio being far too public an announcement for such a personal mission. Kono had nodded at him in thanks before taking to the trail in search of her friend.

Kono had ducked her head as she entered a thick copse of greenery. Within a few foot falls she'd felt as if she'd entered another world; surprised when in glancing over her shoulder her view of the road was completely obscured by foliage. She'd been fully protected inside the dark shadows and completely alone, though Kama had obviously still been close at hand.

"Nice job, brah," Kono had chuffed as she'd edged along, impressed that Danny had managed to stumble upon such a special find. She'd picked her way carefully down the narrow track, noting the occasional bottle or cigarette butt – even a rejected ragged t-shirt; all evidence that a few others knew of the secret hideaway. There hadn't been much proof that Danny had travelled that way and yet it had felt _right_. She had felt it in her gut, that this was where she would find him as she'd ducked under another branch, just able to spy the blue of the ocean before her.

As the path ahead of her had opened out, the beach had become visible. Littered with boulders and small rocky protuberances, there was literally nothing but the beach and the ocean. It was indeed starkly beautiful, even under the overcast sky of a newly broken dawn. As she had emerged onto the beach itself, Kono had abruptly halted; the soft crunch of the dampened sand beneath her feet a sure giveaway to her position. The initial relief which came from seeing Danny's tousled blonde hair over the rocky outcrop was torn away and replaced by fear as she had slowly rounded on his position and taken in the entire scene before her.

Danny was propped against the large rock; half turned to the ocean and with his legs stretched out before him. Even from a distance, she could make out the puffy redness of sorrow and pain which swelled his eyes and blocked his nose. Moving slowly, Kono had approached him; ensuring she was close enough to be heard over the soft lapping of the ocean before she spoke.

"Danny?" He had jolted at the female voice, his hand automatically seizing the gun in a trained reflexive move, aiming it unerringly towards the soft sound. His reverie and budding plans were shattered in an instant as his eyes flew to Kono's stunned expression.

"Hey, brah," she had whispered carefully, opting to stay exactly where she was, her hand out-stretched and pleading. She had known the gun was aimed directly at her chest, but she hadn't flinched. Instead, she slowly crouched down and smiled calmly.

"What are you doing out here all alone, Danny? You need to come home."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

_**One hour before** _

Heavy cloud cover had ruined the orangey brightness of dawn and replaced it with the threat of a rare dismal day in Hawaii. The whole day had turned into one which mimicked Danny's own gloom. A strong scent of rain was on the breeze, but it was still distant. Very far off and hours away from any moisture making landfall. As the wind increased and ruffled his hair, Danny couldn't have cared less about the day's fickle weather. He sat on the ground up against a craggy outcropping, his back turned away from the ocean and his focus entirely on the small display he'd created with the few tools he had at his disposal.

To his right and within easy reach, was the loaded pistol with its safety off. It wasn't quite his P30, but his comfort with the weapon was hardly high on his list of requirements. Next came the spare clip, which he wouldn't need if he got it right the first – or even the second, third or fourth – time. And then of course, his prescription bottle of pain medication. He only needed to decide which ... and when he might choose to act.

Shooting himself would be the fastest method, though he'd have to be accurate and there was a risk he could only grievously wound himself. He'd borne witness to such failed suicides a time or two himself. It was never pretty and he could imagine Doctor Max Bergman's eventual reaction to such an epic fail.

"Good 'ol Max," Danny muttered, his roughened voice harsh in his own ears just as his eyes flickered to stare at the pill bottle.

He'd have to dry swallow those and let them do their magic of pushing his body over the abyss, and he grimaced at the thought before a strange giggle burst out of his chest. He could swallow the pills and _then_ he could shoot himself ... _after_.

Why did he have to choose only one method when this way, he could double his chances of success? He apparently wasn't thinking right if he had almost missed another option entirely. Max would be pleased. He'd have much to analyse during his merry march through his detailed post-mortem medical examination.

Double suicide. A first. A backup plan ... _for the backup_ … he sniggered again at the private double-entendre. If all else failed, he could simply turn around and walk into the great Pacific to drown himself proper. All he need do is choose.

Danny could just about see the news headlines, anticipate Max's verbose report, and he giggled. Loudly. The hysterical notes too obvious to anyone who might have been listening.

"Too soon?" he murmured sarcastically and he grinned to himself at the terrible joke, not realizing it for what it was. He wasn't making sense. His thoughts were sickly, random and wholly inappropriate. Yet Danny got stuck for a moment for an entirely different reason. He got stuck thinking about Steve because he would be critical of the rude timing. Too soon, indeed. Steve would roll his eyes and stalk away, mocking Danny silently in disapproval.

 _Disapproval_.

Steve would wholeheartedly disapprove of his plans. He'd disapprove of everything Danny was doing - or planning to do - that very moment, in fact. Illogical and stupid, Steve would definitely be angry with him.

_"Oh no, you don't get to give up now."_

"Steve," the whisper wasn't above a murmur as angry words ran through his mind. "I have to." It was drowned out by the sound of small waves behind him which were like painful slaps to his own face. Danny sobered on a dime, his eyes welling with tears and his chest tightening. Remembering Steve tore the sarcastic smile from Dany's face in a heartbeat and he felt the oppressive stress fall down upon him in spades.

_"At some point you're gonna have to stop letting fear drive you, D. You're gonna need to take back the wheel and steer."_

He knew what he was about to do wasn't even close to what Steve meant by his choice of words. Steve would say he was giving up. But this was the only way he could see past the fear and own something. He could make this choice and steer himself clear of the ever-present pain.

 _Pain_.

Danny's gaze was drawn to the near-full bottle of prescription painkillers. He'd scored himself the good stuff, but had been equally too terrified and too stubborn to take it. He feared the loss of control and the feeling of being almost outside of himself that the strong narcotics brought on, but mostly he just hadn't wanted not to _feel_ … he'd spent too long not feeling anything while under Spense's – and then Dylan's – control and he simply couldn't re-visit that headspace. He nodded to himself as he popped the cap off of the bottle and shook a couple of pills into the palm of his hand, softly cursing as that simple action hurt his injured forearm; the broken cast discarded somewhere between Steve's and the beach … alongside his will to live.

"Just enough to take the edge off," Danny muttered to himself before dry-swallowing the small white pills, eyes tearing again as some part of him weakly fought his decision.

"I _need_ to do this."

 _"You don't get to give up."_ Steve's voice angrily shouted somewhere deep in his mind, the fury heard in his own head enough to give him pause.

"I can do whatever I want, Steven … besides, I _need_ to do this." Danny reached out automatically, tears tracing his cheeks, one finger gently stroking the black grip of the pistol.

 _Steve's gun._ Good choice. Bad choice.

Danny felt momentarily like a thief for daring to use one of Steve's weapons and murmured an apology under his breath because he didn't have a choice. He was stuck where he was and he'd act that day; one way or another. He had to do it then and one finger slowly became two on the heavy grip as a new resolve eked into his being.

Here was good. He could be done with the voices in his head and the sickening echo of touches on his body. "No more," he whispered as Dylan's evil laugh teased him. For a split second, Danny thought about Leon too and even had the gall to rue the dead INTERPOL agent for not giving him this very option as a way out.

Here. Alone. On some tiny piece of rock far away from everything he ever ... _was_. In a strange way it was fitting. It was the perfect place ... and the perfect time.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Danny?" He was startled from his reverie by the soft female voice. A voice as familiar as it was unwanted. His – _Steve's_ – gun had come up automatically, but he was loathe to lower it for fear of losing control once again.

As Kono crouched before him, Danny could see her lips moving, but the words themselves escaped him. He simply stared stupidly into Kono's face, stunned by her unexpected arrival and the unanticipated malfunction of his hearing. Danny squinted up at her, reading her lips until his ears tuned in.

"… You need to come home."

With his hearing finally working, Danny cursed under his breath as his vision chose that moment to swim alarmingly, blurring her eyes and hair into a dark shimmering halo. Danny shook his head and scrubbed his bad hand across his face in an attempt at clearing his vision, but didn't drop the gun. When he re-opened his eyes, Kono was close … too close … and Danny raised the pistol to aim at her head, leaning in just a little as he spat his words with a venom she'd clearly never heard.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" His hand was beginning to shake, but at such close range there was no way he'd miss and Kono plopped backwards into the sand in shock.

"Whoa, Danny," Kono raised one hand in supplication, the other splayed on the floor as she slowly moved to regain her feet. "It's okay, Danny … let's just talk, okay?"

"You shouldn't be here, Kono. I don't want to do this while you're staring at me."

"What exactly is it you're planning on doing, Danny?" Kono's stomach was in knots, her eyes widening as she catalogued the small pile of goods laid out on the sand. She watched – horrified – as the gun remained trained on her head; wavering slightly as Danny's own head bobbed and his blink rate increased. He looked for all the world as though he could fall asleep right there and in any other circumstance, Kono would have chalked it up to exhaustion … until she really _looked_ at Danny. She saw the intention tremor; the pallor of his skin; the slight sheen of sweat beneath his collar; the way he shook his head as if attempting to clear his vision. She watched as he fought his demons right in front of her; a broken man. She saw the pain in those trademark blue eyes … big, blue eyes with pinpoint pupils. _Shit_. Kono glanced back down to Danny's small pile of items and noted the empty bottle of prescription medication, lid discarded haphazardly and half-buried in the sand. _Shit, Danny – what did you do?_

"Put the gun down, Danny," Kono whispered. "You're not going to shoot me."

"Are you sure?" He breathed out. His breath hitched as the drugs slowly eked into his system, his vision beginning to fail just as his muscles began to quiver with an increasing strain.

"I'm sure," she replied confidently. "I'm sure about that, just like I'm sure you aren't going to kill yourself, Danny. This isn't right, brah. It's not _right_ ... please, believe me."

"This is my decision," he slurred. "Spense ... he took that away ... then Walker ... everything down to ... _humanity_. Do you understand what they did? Do you? They made me into a _thing_ ... into a _nothing_. It's time I made my own mind up about something and so, you're _wrong_. This is the only way; my way. It's right ... it has to be this way. I can't live like this ... I can't. They took _everything_."

"Danny, it's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything …"

The giggle that escaped him was innocent and child-like; a stark contrast to the situation they both found themselves in. He half snorted as he propped himself up more heavily into the volcanic rock, the determination in his eyes a firm warning to Kono to keep her distance. "Are you seriously quoting _Fight Club_ at me right now?"

Kono lifted the corner of her mouth into a half smile, holding tight to the hope that maybe she could get through to him. He was broken far beyond what she or Chin had ever imagined. She had thought he was beginning to heal; that he was truly starting to … _find_ himself again. Unfortunately, Danny had each of them – and maybe even himself – truly fooled up until that very point where she was perched on a rocky beach with a gun aimed directly at her head.

"You're right, you know. The nightmares don't stop; they never stop and now with Steve ... if it had been Grace ... and that hardly matters because I killed him …"

"No, no, no. Danny, no …" Kono shook her head in desperation as she tried to impart the truth, the realisation that he truly believed his best friend dead leaving her reeling.

"Everything's over. I've hurt everyone and lost everything and I can't even be trusted around my own daughter. She's not safe and I can't afford to risk killing her like I …" His mouth opened and then closed, as if he were searching for words.

"He's not _dead_ , Danny. Steve – he's not dead."

"Then what the _fuck_ are _you_ doing here?" Danny fairly spat the words out. As way of making a statement, he refused to lower the weapon he held in his shaking hand. Danny shook his head to deny her statements, the move a severe error as his entire world momentarily flared out and then blinked back in from a frightening white-out. Kono had moved over in that split second and Danny hissed at her to back off, angry that she'd try to take him down.

"It's better this way. I _have_ to do this ... and _you_ need to go."

It was the manner in which he said his last words which gave Kono pause. The finality was unconditional and the look on his face completely resolute.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Kama hung up the call, satisfied that Chin knew precisely where they were and having marked the trail head with the foil blanket from the emergency pack he had slung over his shoulder. He started along the trail after Kono, hoping against all hope that they'd find the detective alive. He'd seen more than enough death in his service – combat and force – and he really, _really_ didn't want to see the little blonde haole fall prey to his demons. They'd only met briefly, but he'd liked him.

Kama noted the same cigarette butts and bottles that Kono had only a few minutes before as he carefully made his way toward the sound of the ocean … until the report of a single gunshot stopped him in his tracks.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	40. Chapter 40

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

The throbbing in his head had increased to the point he could no longer think straight. His face straight up hurt; the skin tight across his cheek as the swelling continued to spread. The nurse had managed to put some lubricating gel in his eye when he first came in, but it was now so grossly swollen there was no way it was opening anytime soon. As he lay in the scanner, the only thing Steve could do was think … and there was only one train of thought and one subject.

 _Danny_.

Steve was beside himself with worry – had been for days, in truth. He hadn't reacted initially when Danny had launched himself at him from the bed. That was a task in and of itself; overriding his ingrained training to simply do … _nothing_. Everything that he had been trained – everything that he was – told him to deflect and subdue, but he had purposely turned off that particular switch for fear of harming his friend … in more ways than simple physics. Danny had already been through so much - _too much_ \- and he was not about to be the cause of further trauma. Then there was the seemingly insurmountable layer of guilt and self-loathing which was spawned by his own inability to save him in the first place. He had practically wrapped his best friend up nice and neat and stuck a bow on him before serving him up to Spenser McCann and there was no way in hell he was ever going to forgive himself for that, no matter what Danny did or didn't say. So, Steve had simply lain beneath his friend as he exploded in anger; he'd taken hit after hit while repeatedly calling Danny's name in hopes the man would emerge from his insensibility before either of them damaged the other irreparably. He had hoped that once the initial fight had worn him down, Danny would come back to the present; would realise who and where he was and settle. He could have handled the fallout – Danny had taken more than a few punches from him after Korea … and his more recent, final run-in with Wo Fat. By the time Steve had realised Danny had way more fight in him than anticipated, it was too late. Steve was so far off his game – either through exhaustion; his post-surgical state; or both – that he failed to factor in the cast on Danny's arm. While the thing was made of a lightweight plastic, rather than a traditional plaster, it was the cast which left him seeing stars after catching him with an uppercut that would've put Tyson to shame. As Steve had curled beneath him, Danny's fist – and the rigid cast – had landed on his chin with such power his head had recoiled into the floor with enough force to stun him completely. He let his guard down in that moment and his best friend had taken full advantage; cracking his ribs and pummelling his unprotected face. Steve had shifted his hips in an effort to unseat Danny as he perched atop him, but had only succeeded in providing further momentum for the blow which finally felled him and sent him careening into unconsciousness.

_"Commander we are gonna need you to stay still or we won't be able to get the images we need of your head. Do you need something for pain, sir?"_

The disembodied voice broke him from his contemplative angst and he realised he had turned his head to relieve the pressure on the large haematoma emerging on the back of it. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm good."

He was far from good and he well knew it and as he turned his head back to neutral, he was momentarily disoriented by a complete loss of vision. The lights on the inside of the scanner reappeared before his non-swollen eye as the tears escaped it and he choked back a sob; fisting the light blanket which laid across his chest as he fought to keep his emotions in check. "I'm good."

_"Ok, Commander. This won't take long and we'll have you back to your room, okay?"_

Steve didn't answer her, focussing instead on filing his pain away. He chose to stare at the illuminated clock, the flash of the timer so bright in his uninjured eye it practically burned the numbers into his retina. Chin would be at least half way there by now … which meant Kono should already be there.

_Please, Danny, don't do anything stupid. I love you, man and I'm so, so sorry._

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

_**45 minutes earlier** _

"Don't do ... this." Kono fumbled badly over her tongue. "You don't have to go through with this, Danny. Please ... tell me ... what can I do?"

She mentally chastised herself immediately for nearly using the same phrases she'd learned at the Police Academy. _Don't do it. There are people who do care. I care! Let me help .. before you make a decision you can't take back._ Though true, all of it would all be badly cliche. She couldn't _really_ talk Danny down; not really. She _knew_ too much; _felt_ too much and maybe just understood a bit too much about where he was coming from and all of it frightened her down to her very soul.

Kono raced through thousands of senseless options, yet came up dumbstruck. Throwing Grace into the mix as a reason or excuse to force Danny to reconsider would make things ten times worse. If _Steve_ hadn't been able to get through, she sure as hell wouldn't be able to shatter Danny's solid sense of resolve. So she simply couldn't find the most perfect words to say to a man who would also know precisely what she was trying to do.

"Get out of here, Kono," Danny snapped angrily. Kono needn't have worried; he hadn't been listening to a single thing she'd said. His temper had flared astronomically despite the drugs he'd ingested as they started to work against him based on her presence. Desperate to stay in control, he was still adamant about his next steps, but he had little time now to execute the plan as his muscles began to twitch and his eyes threatened to droop.

"Go," he sniped. He fought harder on the strained exhale, switching the gun carefully to his opposite hand. "Leave me alone ... and get the hell out of here."

It was his bad arm which now held the weapon, but he needed to get to his feet which meant he had to use his better side to claw his way up the volcanic rock he'd been leaning against. He barely managed it, each breath a labored battle, swaying and dizzy, vainly gulping in enough air. None of which seemed to adequately fuel his system while he did his best to stay focused on Kono.

But he faltered anyway because he simply couldn't fight his embattled body. Eyes narrowed belligerently, Danny firmly set his jaw as he forced his hand to remain parallel to the ground. He was shaking badly though and unable to hold Steve's unfamiliar P30 straight as his vision whited out.

"Back ... off!" He snarled as he sensed Kono take the opportunity, before crying out as pain ricocheted sharply up his wrist and into his forearm; twisting the gun in their now mutual grip until it pointed back toward his own head. A soft gasp escaped his mouth as his finger traced the trigger just hard enough for the weapon to fire. The close-range sound of discharge, coupled with the strong recoil startled them simultaneously. But then Danny was off his feet and falling backwards, Kono doing her best to shield his collapse onto the rock-strewn beach and damp sand. She tried to twist her own body to break their downwards trajectory, her left arm and shoulder intentionally buffering his neck and head as they hit the ground hard, the gun skimming away across the damp sand. His weight and her momentum foiled the best of her attempts though.

Kono's own grunt of pain as she jarred her shoulder and skinned the backs of her hands was negated by Danny's resultant thick exhale. They lay together, tangled and stunned for a long silent moment. Danny staring blankly up into the gray clouds, while Kono rediscovered her wits, grabbing the gun from where it lay on the sand, thumbing on the safety and dropping the clip. As Kama emerged onto the beach, she tossed the weapon well beyond Danny's reach before turning her attention to her fallen friend.

"Christ, Danny! What the fuck!" Kono shouted while she struggled awkwardly to her knees in the wet sand, her hands moving rapidly over his shoulders only to settle on either side of his face. "Danny, hey ... look at me … how many did you take? Danny?" Her fingers were bruised and bleeding from where she'd tried to pillow their fall. Desperate for a response, she gently ran her fingers through Danny's hair towards the back of his head searching for damage and easily finding the tell-tale lump; her fingers coming away more bloodied than her knuckles.

"Dammit, Danny. Answer me. How many?"

Danny lay limply on his back, soundless and entirely still. His vision tunnelled to a tiny distant point in the sky. His hearing had fled him once more, leaving him with only a narrow point of light as his dim gaze focused on a lonely black speck which circled high overhead. The seven-foot wingspan appeared to be pencil-thin as the frigate bird soared in the grayish heavens. Playing on the wind, the seabird soared on thermal drafts in a righteous game of chance until a murky veil of gray swallowed it whole.

Near tears as she listened to Kama demanding a bus to their location, Kono once more traced her fingers over Danny's face and temples. She whispered encouragement to him until his persistent heavy-lidded gaze drew her own eyes skyward to briefly watch the thieving 'iwa bird. When she looked back again, Danny's eyes had closed and his face was lax and deathly pale. Kono stared at his lifeless body in horror as her bloodied fingers dug into his neck, knowing he was no longer breathing yet desperately searching for a pulse.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	41. Chapter 41

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

He automatically checked the time as he was wheeled away from the radiology department. Or, at least he tried but the glare had him closing his eyes with a soft breathless curse. Steve was tired. Beyond tired and utterly exhausted both mentally and physically. The process had seemed as if it had taken forever. He was nauseous now too, the pain in his head and lancing through his swollen eye worsening despite the medication granted him during the procedure. He ducked his aching head behind the safety of his hand, elbow propped on the arm of the wheelchair, his one good eye tearing in reaction to the bright fluorescent lights.

"Is that almost nine-thirty?" He asked roughly, his head throbbing in time to each syllable as he squinted at the blurred hands on the clock behind the nurse's station. It couldn't be that late and yet it was as a nurse standing by the desk handed him his cell phone. He'd refused to leave his hospital room without the device. The nurses had gently refused him the ability to hold it for the interminable duration of the scan, promising to both answer it if it rang and return it to him after the imaging was complete.

"I think a message or two might have come in for you," she offered calmly before turning away to answer the station's busy phone. A parting remark shared quickly over her shoulder. "Excuse me. I have to get this, but someone will be here soon to take you back up to your room."

"Thanks," he murmured as he squinted harder, a tear rolling reactively as he read the short text message from Chin. "Fuck," Steve muttered as he swallowed hard to keep his roiling stomach at bay. The text had come in twenty minutes earlier and besides being succinct, it was incredibly worrisome. Emotionless. It severely lacked information. Nonetheless, in four short words, Chin clearly communicated that things with Danny were bad.

_On our way in._

"Are you ready, Commander?" Steve glanced up at the pert female orderly. "I'll take you back to your room now." Petite and much too cheerful.

Steve grunted his reply that was neither a yes nor a no. He didn't say a word when she pressed the elevator call button to go up to his floor and then turned away to quickly get her next orders from one of the radiology department nurses.

He was distracted though, only half listening as he speed-dialed Chin's cell phone. Nothing happened for the longest few seconds and Steve cursed under his breath again before holding the screen up scarcely an inch from his good eye. He watched as the tiny bars flickered from two to one and then back to two. Virtually sneering at the device, he redialed the number, holding his breath and motionless as it finally rang. But a second later, he'd only gotten Chin's voicemail.

Instinctively, Steve switched over to Kono's line. He waited with baited breath but again had no luck as he fell into the tell-tale pause signaling voicemail.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," the orderly cheerily voiced over his shoulder. "On to your room!"

"No. No can do." Without thinking, Steve reached out and thumbed the button to go down instead. Time was suddenly of the essence. Things were moving at breakneck speed and he needed to get down to the emergency room immediately. Steve was suddenly antsy as his mental clock chimed a warning. When the elevator arrived and she wheeled him into the lift, he pushed her hand away from the button for the fourth floor.

"Sir? You're on the fourth floor," she objected lightly, a giggle in her voice as she leaned forward again.

"No, we're going down. Take me to the ER," he insisted as he pressed the button for the main floor. "It's urgent. They're bringing my partner in - Detective Williams - right now. I have to be down there."

"I can't ... I mean ... " The girl stammered, worried and confused when her patient slammed the side of his fist into the button marked '1'. "Sir? I'm not allowed to take you anywhere but back to your room."

"Listen. I _need_ to get down there." One-eyed and working around his swollen lip, Steve dared her to countermand his orders. His heart was in his throat as the door slid shut and the elevator began its descent. A small but painful pulse point pounded just on the side of his temple when the orderly frowned; the side where the few stitches had been laid with such precision. His nausea was progressing to dangerous proportions as the stress element began to contribute to the physical. Unable to speak as he waged his growing battle against his body, Steve swallowed hard to hide a vomitous gag. The tiny shake of his head was nearly subliminal and the young woman's hand fell to her side, her face full of uncertainty as the man described as Five-0's powerful commander-in-chief seemed to silently be begging his case.

"Five minutes," she murmured when she noticed the subtle tremor running through his hands. His one eye was shining and it seemed more than just from the sharpness of the light or the sensitivity caused by his persistent migraine. "Alright then. Just five ... five should be okay."

Steve heard the stressed noise murmured ever so softly as they rolled out of the elevator. But they were committed now and he stayed alert, channeling his physical distress into a tiny corner as best as possible. He searched through the many faces for someone he might know as he was wheeled towards the main desk and then ignored the orderly for the most part, scarcely listening as she inquired about Danny. He ignored her so he could focus on the myriad of other voices and the activity milling about, including an ambulance which had just pulled up. Only to be disappointed when the occupants weren't anyone he knew.

"He's not here yet, Sir," the orderly confirmed, her tone definitely relieved as she started to turn his chair back the way they'd come. "It's busy down here ... I can't seem to get an ETA for you, so they're going to call your room as soon as he arrives."

Steve grimaced his displeasure, his fingers flying once more to his cell phone to call Chin but he was interrupted by a stern voice which he did know.

"Commander?" What in God's name are you doing down here?" Steve peered up to see his clearly perturbed physician towering over his petite orderly. The woman was red-faced, embarrassed and wishing she'd listened to her own gut instincts as the doctor glared from her back into Steve's face.

"Danny … Detective Williams is on his way in," Steve hastily slurred. "I need to be here." His voice was raw and his ability to sound both adamant and implacable impaired by pain and thick bruising.

"There are two problems with that," the doctor stated. "Both of which I'll share with you now. One, I know enough about these circumstances to believe that your Detective could be ... further ... _traumatized_ ... to see you looking the way you do. If he's as upset as we're all believing right now, seeing you like this is only going to make matters worse. Have you thought of that fact, Commander?"

Steve winced at the wise observation, because the doctor was quite right. Danny would be mortified at the damage he'd inflicted. Steve groaned softly under his breath, torn and miserable as he glanced uncomfortably up to automatically search nearby faces. He sighed regretfully, knuckling the spot between his eyes as the throb picked up in both tempo and severity.

"No, no I never thought of it," he admitted quietly. Steve would swear up and down to anyone that what had happened was his fault. That at most, it was an accident. Not a single part of it had been Danny's _fault_. But Danny was the problem. He'd never believe it. In fact, he didn't believe it that very minute. Danny's running proved that he only felt the guilt. Steve knew that Danny's panic had been directly caused by his uncontrollable, blind attack against him. All he'd need to see now would be the colorful bruising and residual effects of bloody damage gracing Steve's face as those terrible reminders.

"And you just proved my second point," the doctor offered stubbornly. His eyes narrowed when he noticed Steve's convulsive swallow and gauged the man's grayish complexion. His patient was sick and fighting an ever-increasing level of pain. "Enough is enough. You shouldn't be out of bed based on your abdominal injuries alone. I prescribed the CAT scan due to your complaints about the severity of the pain through your eye and head. None of this is anything to toy with, Commander. I want you on complete and absolute bedrest! If you continue to be so difficult, you're going to leave me with little recourse except to sedate your ass for good. I'll make sure you heal just to spite yourself ... even if I have to chain you to that hospital bed myself! Now, Miss Adams here is going to take you straightway back to the fourth floor. Now. This minute; and once we get word on your partner, you'll be the first to know."

Duly chastised and unwilling to admit he was losing his fight to compartmentalize his woes, Steve muttered something unintelligible under his breath. The doctor had him to rights and he was indeed fading fast. He wearily closed his good eye as the orderly whisked him back towards the elevators, an audible gag breaking free as a wave of dizziness exacerbated the discomfort in his stomach.

Steve's eyes had remained closed as the orderly had summoned the lift, trying to escape the lancing discomfort that seemed to feed on the light. He had tried to calm himself with breathing exercises, but while he felt his heart rate begin to slow, the pounding in his head seemed only to increase. He found himself almost wishing for the skin of his face to split to relieve the pressure. He had tried to zone out and ignore the sounds of the busy ER, but a near-constant huffing and tutting from next to him was too hard to ignore.

"C'mon, c'mon."

The frustrated half-whisper was harsh in Steve's ears and he opened his good eye just a crack and squinted in the direction of the culprit. A man – clearly a tourist – wearing a sickeningly bright Hawaiian shirt with an equally nauseating back-pack was anxiously shuffling from foot to foot. The blowing and huffing was akin to an angry bull readying to charge and the man seemingly took out his frustrations on the elevator call button, stabbing at it almost constantly as if it would speed up the process. As the tourist took a small step back, he ran his hands through the sides of his dark hair, before wiping them on his pants to remove the remnants of the gel he had clearly forgotten about. Watching that simple act of smoothing his hair reminded Steve of Danny and as the lift chimed its arrival, he sighed in despondency. He had no idea what had happened, although he knew whatever it was couldn't be good based solely upon the cousins' transfer of his calls to voicemail.

The orderly – Miss Adams – wheeled Steve inside the elevator the moment the doors opened, turning his chair to facilitate their exit on the fourth floor. To his credit, the tourist waited and allowed her the space to manoeuvre, in spite of his obvious hurry. As he was turned back towards the main ER foyer, Steve couldn't help but glance at the doors that led back into the main department. As he sat there, waiting for the elevator doors to close, the large double doors slid open and there, in the corridor just beyond them stood Chin and Kono.

Before he even knew what he was really doing, Steve was on his feet and then time seemed to stand still. Through his still-tearing eye he saw Kono as she fisted Chin's shirt in her hands, face buried in his shoulder. He saw Chin holding her tightly, as though if he let go of her she would crumple to the floor. He watched as Kono's shoulders shook, her sobbing as clear as glass in spite of his own poor vision. Steve stumbled forward into the elevator entrance, catching the door with his hand as it attempted closure. And then his breath left him as all the air was suddenly sucked out of the room like he was in a vacuum. He watched as Chin – the man who was unflappable, the king of stoicism – bent his head and pulled Kono closer. He saw the tear as it escaped Chin's eye and lost itself in the soft brown locks of his cousin's hair. Steve was in that very moment oblivious to everything but the scene playing out before him; framed like a still from a depressing movie between the open glass doors. Steve was stuck in place; fingers pressed so tightly against the plaster of the elevator entrance they would surely leave imprints. He didn't hear the pleas from the orderly to sit back down; didn't acknowledge the increasing frustration of the neon-clad traveller as he almost vibrated in place beside him. As Steve stood, half in and half out of the doorway, his mind travelled to only one place.

 _Danny_.

As the glass doors slid closed and hid his friends from sight, Steve's head began to spin. _Danny's dead and it's all my fault._ The piercing pain through his bad eye had ramped up another notch and it was all he could do to remember how to breathe.

"Make up your mind, dude – you in or out? Some of us have places to be."

"Commander please sit down."

The voices seemed to merge into one loud cacophony and Steve grabbed the side of his head with his free hand, the other still pressed firmly to the wall. A wave of nausea washed over him and he almost choked on the gag.

Then everything seemed to happen at once. A pale hand on his shoulder; the instantaneous reflex that sent its owner to the floor; the startled cry and the yelling to stop; the ringing in his ears that then drowned out all sound. Steve's whole world descended into confusion. He had no idea what was happening as time seemed to once again stand still. Steve looked down at his feet, as pain tore through his belly, to see the frustrated tourist – flat on his back, gripping his shoulder and clearly as mad as a cut snake. There was a coppery taste in his mouth and for the life of him, Steve couldn't think why. He couldn't think, period. The bile rose to his mouth as the lancing pain reached an ugly crescendo behind his eye and Steve was powerless to stop it. He pitched forwards and hit the ground, still half in and half out of the elevator. As the commotion continued around him, Steve sank into the blessed tranquillity of oblivion.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	42. Chapter 42

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Kono left her car in favor of riding in the ambulance with Danny. In fact, she took on every aspect of managing whatever Danny needed with Kama's help right up until the time which the EMT's got him fairly stabilized to travel. With Chin no where in sight and likely still the farthest out from their location, she'd only allow Kama on the beach even after other local units arrived. Tight-lipped and vacillating between being upset and thoroughly angry at what her friend had intended to carry out, she firmly followed police protocol by herself. But her actions merely provided a cover for how greatly flustered she was just under the surface. Burying herself in Danny's immediate needs and keeping the situation manageable when they moved off the beach to the side of the tertiary road where the ambulance waited, Kono kept her head down but she was on the verge of losing her self-control.

"How is he?" Kono dared to ask after he was loaded in the rig, risking a look at Danny's ashen face. She felt a moment of sheer panic at knowing an airway device had been shoved part-way down Danny's throat while one of the medic's rhythmically and manually forced air into his lungs. He looked different to her now; frail, smaller and lost in a way that she'd never expected. She desperately wanted Chin there; she needed his quiet spirit and not the audience they'd attracted; uniformed or otherwise.

"His vitals are severely depressed," the older EMT said, his attention constantly attuned to Danny's blood pressure, oxygenation and pulse rate. "He took a good blow to the back of his head, too. He's lost consciousness so in the very least he's got a concussion. He'll need to be evaluated once we get to the hospital. And we need to go now; we're far enough out where things can take a turn much too quickly."

"Damn it, Danny," Kono hissed under her breath, her worry staying at an astronomical level. Glancing away, she frowned after searching the small group who lingered nearby. There was no sign of her cousin and so, she forged ahead as Kama jogged towards her. She tried to hide her disappointment at not being able to have Chin literally by her side, swearing softly under her breath at how badly her own hands were still shaking.

"I contacted Lieutenant Kelly," Kama shared quickly as he watched the shaken Five-0 officer cuff the detective's one good wrist to the gurney for transport. He frowned, his nostrils flaring in concern at Kono's difficult task, yet he held his tongue. "He's about eight minutes out and knows you can't wait, so he'll meet the ambulance on the road and provide escort back to the hospital."

"Thanks, Kama," Kono replied as she clambered into the rig next. She accepted Kama's help again as he steadied her by the elbow. The older Hawaiian officer was kind and exceedingly good-hearted, and Kono found a genuine smile. "I appreciate it. I really do, brah."

"Take care of him," Kama softly noted. "I'll be in touch ... I'd like to help. Whenever I can; he deserves more than this." A gentle, worried nod was now offered for Danny and Kono nearly lost her nerve then. Kama cared. He'd become a true friend through this whole mess of things and he clearly understood.

"Thank you," she whispered again, her fight to keep her tears at bay nearly lost just as Kama was pushed aside for the second EMT.

"You're shaking," the EMT said as he took a seat across from her. "Are you hurt other than your hands? Can I take look ... see how bad they are?"

"It's adrenalin," she reasoned quietly to this medic who'd been studiously examining her since their more critical victim had received the medical team's initial attention. Kono used a clear patch of skin on her forearm to awkwardly wipe the sweat beading across her upper lip. Her hands were bloody and beginning to sting and throb with a vengeance. With no recourse as the rear doors to the ambulance slammed shut, she held both out in front of her.

"That, and I got banged up pretty good when we fell. The rocks, you know? I tried to protect both of us and I ripped up the backs of my hands," Kono explained. She winced in pain as the medic gently palpated the small bones in each hand, her knuckles, and then rotated each arm to further examine the scrapes and nasty abrasions which speckled her forearms. The delicate skin was scraped raw with a few decent gouges, but she hissed when a gentle finger tweaked a sore spot closer to the back of her wrist.

"Ripped up is an understatement," the medic gently soothed as he examined first one, then the other. "Both of your hands need to be irrigated and possibly debrided; it's not going to be a pleasant process," he continued calmly. "Your right hand is especially swollen and something feels a bit suspect near your wrist, so I'd guess x-rays, too."

Holding her right hand out first as the medic managed triage, Kono knew the drill yet to come. She well understood the need to keep wounds clean, especially on the islands where any number of microorganisms flourished. She grimaced in pain when he finished bandaging what seemed like her entire hand, tucking it into her lap before presenting her left for a similar treatment.

"How are you holding up?" He asked when he finished, his attention now on her own vitals and the apparently elevated blood pressure reading he'd just taken. "You're a bit shocky." He caught her eye drawing her unnerved gaze from Danny's cuffed wrist to his own face. "It's none of my business, but you're both Five-0 and what happened here ... well, it's a bit ... unexpected. An intentional overdose? Seriously?"

"Unexpected?" Kono murmured thoughtfully, a rueful laugh bouncing out of her mouth almost manically. She lifted both bandaged hands up in the air, their tremble still more than obvious with a few pinked spots already beginning to show through. She looked at the medic, read his honest interest, yet decided to end the conversation then and there except for one key point. "Yeah, I'd agree with that. What happened today was completely unexpected."

She heaved in a deep settling breath, her attitude clearly communicating that, when it came to sharing more about her friend, her side of the conversation had ended. Once more focused on Danny, Kono did her best to get comfortable next to where he lay, her bandaged hands stiffly cradled in her lap. She rocked in time to the speeding ambulance, scarcely conscious of the sirens and oblivious to the fact that Chin had indeed met them mid-way. He was in the lead on the main highway, his own lights and siren adding to their noise. Her attention flickered from Danny's cuffed wrist to the older medic who had already stabilized Danny's reinjured arm. The swelling and extent of bruising was obvious now; his fingers again swollen and discolored. Easily assuming the original fracture had been badly compromised, the medic had splinted wrist and forearm, stabilizing both to Danny's chest before they'd even left the rocky beach.

Kono watched unhappily as the older medic ghosted over the edges of the bandage which he'd placed on the back of Danny's head. The gash there was ugly and bleeding freely. Danny would need stitches at some point, but the immediate concern remained the effect of the intentional overdose. Danny's lips were partly open and lax around the tube as air was pushed in, causing a strange wet mist to cloud the clear plastic. None of it seemed to be quite enough and yet, at the same time, it was all too much. Making matters more dire, the medic's face was nearly blank as he managed Danny's vitals. Nonetheless, Kono knew he wasn't pleased. She could literally see the sheen of sweat covering Danny's skin as his body began to shut down. It didn't take much to know that he was in a good deal of trouble.

"You did a damned good job, _brah_ ," Kono muttered softly, her voice cracking at the strain. "Please don't do this. _Please_."

She closed her eyes a few minutes later when the medics seemed to increase their pace, the two men working steadily and in perfect unison. In direct response though, her chest tightened in fear as she listened to the occasional order. They were all waging a determined battle to save a life which fought them at every turn and none of them could even dare guess the outcome.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny hung between everything and nothing. A dark limbo where he floated in a half state of being. He found that he had no opinion of it, though he thought he sensed activity around him. Most of the people - and they were people - he didn't know. But at times there were others who he did know or thought he should know. Kono, Chin - and quite possibly Steve's ghost - came and went in a rush of ambiguous sound. He cared that they seemed upset for him. However, that was all he cared about because he certainly didn't care about himself. Or indeed what might happen next.

He was serene in his oblivion. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt at peace. He was too comfortable to wake, and so he didn't even try. He floated and allowed that dim state of being to continue as long as it wished. He refused to fight or argue it. He liked its amity and privacy, where he could be as like nothing as the limbo itself. Content, he sank deeper still, wallowing happily in a cloak of blackness.

"You don't get to give up, Danno." Steve whispered mere inches from his partner's wan face as he lay unconscious on a ventilator in the ICU. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He certainly couldn't cope with what Danny had done. He'd really tried to kill himself ... honest to goodness, _tried_. "Not now. Not ever ... we won't let you."

In the few minutes he'd been permitted to see his partner, Steve already knew too much. He knew too much as related to him by the cousins and now, he was stunned by the state of his partner. Danny was already receiving the antidote to his narcotic overdose. Naloxone was running through the IV at a steady rate. But what was inconceivable was the fact that he had remained intubated even after he had started to breathe for himself. As the doctors had explained it to him, Danny was simply too high a risk until they could be sure not only that the drugs were out of his system, but that there was no significant damage from his head injury. The plan was to keep him on the ventilator – sedated but breathing for himself – as a protective measure for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours within the confines of the ICU. From there, he'd be evaluated by a team of specialists and likely moved to the hospital's psychiatric ward.

"God damnit," Steve muttered under his breath. He was tired, hurting and beyond angry to the point where his voice was flat, nearly monotone. As his sedation was light, Danny was restrained to his current bed for his own safety. While the restraints were now soft, Kono had brought him back to them cuffed to a stretcher. That was all bad enough, but based upon what he'd intended to do prior to Kono's intervention, Danny was much worse for wear.

And Kono? She was beside herself at having had to subdue her friend with such incredible force, the damage to both of her hands proof enough. And now bedridden, her migraine and nausea an insult caused by such a high level of emotional stress.

Steve cocked his head so that he could force himself to see better with his one good eye. Even swollen shut, the other teared endlessly and he had a headache that seemed part and parcel of all his woes combined.

"Time's up, Commander," the doctor said from behind his back. A subsequent sigh was clearly audible when he received no response, his demand for action now aimed directly at Chin Ho. "Lieutenant, I need to settle Commander McGarrett. He needs to be in his own bed sooner rather than later. The intensivists will continue the Detective's case.

Steve glowered angrily as he glanced once towards Chin. For the first time that day, the Asian's face was impassive and Steve briefly considered the man's strength of will because, in Danny's case, managing his case meant an extremely private room until he could be seen by a battery of specialized doctors and crisis counsellors.

"Steve, your health is at risk. You've already collapsed once today, please get off your feet and follow your doctor's orders. I'll stay with him every step of the way," Chin whispered softly when he looked into Steve's face. "I'll take care of everything Danny needs. You can count on that."

"Yeah, I know. I know that, Chin," Steve murmured thankfully, his flush of annoyance dissipating by the sensible comments. "But just a few more minutes. Not yet."

Still, he was upset and incredibly angry as he sat hunched by Danny's bedside in a wheelchair. He had woken in the ER after collapsing in the foyer. There had, apparently, been bleeding into the space behind his eye, which had put pressure on the sensitive nerves and his eyeball. That, in turn, had caused his extreme pain and nausea, as well as slowing his heart rate significantly and dropping his blood pressure when he stood quickly from the chair in the lift. His automated reaction to the tourist's touch had simply hastened the inevitable, as well as straining his still-healing abdominal wound and causing his nose to bleed. The emergency physician had performed some sort of special procedure to release the pressure in his eye and he had several new medications added to his chart to relieve the swelling and cover him for infection in the newly created cut. By all accounts, he had been lucky to have been as close to the ER proper as he was when he collapsed – a delay in performing the incision could have cost him his sight. He still had a bitch of a headache, but the lancing pain from earlier had all but disappeared. That agony had been replaced by a real fear growing inside his chest that this would be the last time he'd see his best friend for a very long time and he just needed more time. Time that neither of them seemed to have anymore.

"Give me five more minutes," Steve mouthed towards Chin, his plea for help plainly apparent. He also didn't need to look to know that Duke and two other HPD officers were standing in the doorway. They were listening and they now knew most of the story. The ache in Steve's head increased as he rudely held up one hand to forestall another adamant order from his physician at the same time Chin voiced the request for him.

"Five minutes, Doc," Chin confirmed with more patience than he actually felt. In fact, he didn't need to look towards the doctor either because he knew that the man remained equally as flustered as he. Steve had only recently woken from his procedure; the physician once more displeased by his patient's persistent ability to countermand his orders by not returning to his hospital room.

Chin heaved in a distraught sigh as he looked from Danny to Steve and wondered how things had devolved to such a terrible state. Neither he nor Kono had immediately known that Steve had collapsed by the elevator. Separated from Danny as the ER staff took over, the new activity which included the rush of security had quickly captured their attention.

Chin had reacted first, stunned to see the recognizable shock of dark hair as he'd run forward to help out, instinct now replaced by fear. At first, his attention had been on Steve and his irate doctor who had dropped to his knees, white coat flaring about him, in order to cater to his fallen patient while he'd shouted orders. But then ... _then_ ... Chin had been forced to focus on the tourist who'd been laying behind Steve inside the elevator. The man's voice had been on the rise as threats to sue the hospital and the downed ex-SEAL interspersed his moans of pain while he'd grasped his dislocated shoulder. As a second physician knelt to help him in turn, the tourist had only escalated his insults, attacking then the medical staff with a flurry of very personal expletives.

Briefly covering his mouth at the memory, Chin hid a spontaneous smile as he recalled what had happened next. The petite aide, Miss Adams, had neatly cut the man's angry diatribe in two. Chin had been astounded by the young woman's sharp, well-placed kick to the man's shin. Claiming it to be an accident and full of apology, her eyes had turned an icy pitch black seconds before she'd sarcastically sneered over the physician's shoulder, her smile completely contrary to her words.

 _"You poor dear, that must hurt terribly."_ Miss Adams had ground out, her chin rigid and unrelenting. _"Perhaps you should consider contacting the Governor. Escalate your issue to the task force, you know?"_

The garishly clothed man, had nodded in agreement, believing he'd found a sympathetic ally. In response, Miss Adams had calmly pointed to Chin himself, her arrogance unrivaled. " _That's easy then. Let me introduce you first to Lieutenant Kelly ...,"_ the intentional pause which followed had been long, drawn out and daring. _"... and also to Commander McGarrett, the man you just so rudely steam-rolled."_

 _"But, ..."_ the man had stammered, his eyes widening in horror as he'd stared up into Chin's unperturbed face. _"He ... he intentionally dislocated my shoulder! He ...!"_

 _"He ... is a highly decorated Navy Seal,"_ Miss Adams had hissed out dangerously. " _You should be happy that's all he did!"_

The slight smile was still there now as Chin glanced once to the doctor, but the man was steadfast by Steve's side. And Steve, himself, was still quite pre-occupied.

"This is crazy," Steve murmured softly. He stared at Danny as if he were seeing him for the first time. He blinked back the sting of tears, stunned at the sallow skin and protruding collarbones. He was sure that Danny had been eating, but the facts were glaringly obvious now. He was positive that he'd been on a road to recovery so this - seeing him here and knowing what he honestly tried to do - was beyond reason.

"When did he get so damned _thin_?" Steve whispered across Danny's blanket-wrapped body to Chin who continued to stand a loyal sentry. Under the blanket, Danny shivered almost uncontrollably, his body weakened and in shock from that day's trauma. Unable to help himself, Steve ran his fingers over Danny's hand, disbelieving of the soft restraints which would remain in place despite the sedation.

"Steve," Chin murmured quietly. He finally caught his friend's eye and tried to provide a semblance of support, his voice firm and allowing no argument. "He's going to get professional help. The right help. And I swear … the very best I can find. And no matter what happens next, either Kono or I will be there with him until you can be. We'll get this sorted out ... we'll set things right."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	43. Chapter 43

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

He had been more than satisfied with his oblivion. Despite being able to sense the life around him, Danny for all intents and purposes, had been blissfully content. But one day, he was forced to rouse more, albeit it wasn't entirely perfect. Noise and voices leaked in at a more steady rate, so he innately knew that his state of peace wouldn't last. And when the tranquillity truly faltered, he returned to life resentfully.

Danny heaved in a pained breath at the very last moment when all hope of staying completely submerged fled him. Wincing at the tight feeling inside his throat and the dryness of his mouth, he did keep his eyes closed though as he took stock of his body. One arm was stiff, refusing to move and he automatically sensed that he'd damaged the already compromised bone more severely this time. This new cast lay heavy across his chest, the sling keeping his arm completely immobile. He shifted slightly, the moan soft as he discovered a deep ache in his neck and through his shoulders. He squinted his eyes open when he sensed he was being watched, the light incredibly bright as it drilled twin spikes of pain into his retinas. He could scarcely see as his eyes refused to focus, the figure next to him shadowed and dark.

"Spense?" Danny muttered in confusion. He was reacting slowly, the sedation lighter yet still keeping him at a disadvantage. "Spenser?" His brow furrowed more when the murky shape moved closer, still refusing to solidify. He shivered, cold and a worry spiking, even though this - _being with Spenser McCann_ \- was exactly who he deserved.

"No!" The man replied quickly, the tone enough to communciate the shock inside the one word. A hazy hand scrubbed at a pale blob of a face as a susurrus of pained words leaked from a mouth which Danny could scarcely see. "No, Danny. It's Chin, brah. Shit, Danny ... _no_. It's me ... it's Chin."

Danny stared hard into the two dark spots which had to be Chin's eyes not realizing that the Asian had kept true to his word. He'd only left Danny's side in consideration of his own necessities or to manage Danny's next stage in medical care. Regardless of those facts, Danny's brain caught up at a snail's pace even if his vision never did. He closed his mouth, a disappointment breaking through because, even though he hadn't precisely planned anything out, he'd failed and he was incomprehensibly ... alive. Unable to find anything to say, he lay there silently, feeling lost with his former false sense of serenity now on a precarious edge.

"You're in the hospital, Danny," Chin gently provided. "You've been out for more than a day, brah. Really almost two, but you're going to be fine. And ... both Steve and Kono are going to be so happy that you're awake now."

If not Spenser McCann, some part of Danny had at least longed to see Steve, no matter his inklings of what he'd done or what he thought he'd deserved. Kono, too. He'd hurt her badly no doubt. Danny didn't know what to do or say as he blinked rapidly, unable to respond to Chin's soothing smile. In fact, Danny couldn't even think of returning that smile. He'd roused feeling ill and sore, completely out of sorts with pain radiating from his head down into his neck. He had surreal, dream-like glimpses of what had happened with Kono and his heart plummeted despite the residual levels of drugs still in his system.

_He shouldn't be here. Steve ... wasn't here ... he'd done something terrible and quite simply. Should. Not. Even. BE._

"W-why?" Danny rasped out after a long moment. His throat was tight. Reminiscent of Walkers aftermath, another terrible reminder he didn't need or want. Danny eyes watered as he stared up at Chin because no matter what, Steve still wasn't there. What he'd done was unforgivable and he didn't deserve to wake in a hospital with anyone by his side. He didn't want to be where he was at that very moment and he shook his head dismally in spite of the nauseating flux of dizziness he caused himself.

"Why?" Danny repeated, almost mouthing the words before squeezing his eyes tightly closed, powerless to avoid the anger and fear which seeped in at a startling rate. This wasn't supposed to be happening; what he'd done had been admittedly spontaneous, yet it had been a tangible first step to a solution. His feelings of loss at not achieving what he'd wanted remained littered with a desperate sense of depression.

 _Kono. Steve._ He was ashamed for what he'd done to his friends ... _what had been done to him_ ... and now, what he'd failed at accomplishing.

"The docs had you on a vent while they flushed your system," Chin slowly explained as he frantically pressed the call button. The doctors were intentionally waking Danny slowly and had explained that he'd be confused, and very slow to return to his full senses. Not only for his own health, the tactic was for the good of the medical staff to avoid the potential of their patient to rouse in an agitated or violent state.

Regardless of the reasoning which had been thoroughly outlined for him, Chin had hoped that Danny might not remember much of the incident. However, it was more than obvious that Danny not only remembered, but he was still in the same poor state of mind. Opting to focus on the current situation to keep things simple, Chin tried to explain the reasons behind a few of Danny's physical woes. However, he could tell that Danny wasn't listening; only seemingly aware of some of his words and possibly not grasping what he was trying to say.

"I know your throat must be sore. They weaned you off the vent only a few hours ago. You're still going to feel weak and you have a concussion from the fall ... so give yourself some time, Danny." He intentionally avoided the obvious emotional mood swing and import of the questioning words. _Why_ indeed, Chin ruefully regarded Danny's unfocused gaze as he quietly cursed Spenser McCann in his mind for the umpteenth time. Even thinking of the dead psychopathic mercenary upped his own stress levels.

"Look at me," Chin insisted as he gently grasped Danny's shoulder to give him a small shake, forcing his friend to reopen his eyes. He frowned uncertain about what Danny had managed to understand based on his odd expression. In fact, he now wasn't even sure that Danny quite recognized him. "Steve's okay. He's ..."

"Not ... okay," Danny interrupted, his tone hollow. "He's not here because of me ... what I did. He's not _here_ anymore." His voice trailed off and he lifted his hand shakily, confused when something prevented him from raising it too far. Still, he managed to see just enough of his bruised knuckles to prove his point. He couldn't force the word out.

 _Dead_.

He'd killed Steve; he was sure of it. He looked at what he could make out of his hand, the colors blurred together against pale skin as his vision still argued his commands. His wrist remained tied to the side of the bed and he could move just so far. He could feel though that his knuckles were bruised and still swollen. He'd certainly viciously attacked Steve and hadn't been able to stop until it was too late. _Much_ too late and he closed his eyes opening himself up to the effects of the continued sedation, demanding that it take him back under as he turned into himself. Deafened entirely to the sound of Chin's voice.

"You're not listening to me. He's all right, Danny," Chin insisted. "I'm not going to lie to you, the two of you had quite the run in and Steve got banged up, but he's going to be okay."

Scowling now as Danny tuned him out, Chin didn't hesitate when the nurse on call came quickly striding into the room. He got up from where he'd been sitting, his goal now quite simple. "He's just come round, but he's not ... entirely coherent; I need to get Commander McGarrett. Bring him down to ... _talk_. Danny doesn't understand."

Now alone, Danny allowed himself to drift, relieved that he was able to achieve some modicum of a thoughtless oblivion despite the physical discomfort he was experiencing. A low moan escaped his lips as a shallow swallow exacerbated the soreness of his throat and the severe pounding inside his skull. _Vent. Concussion. Medical intervention._ The words meant nothing to him and he sank so deeply, that he even managed to convince himself that he'd dreamt Chin's presence. He hadn't planned what he'd tried to do on that lonely beach, but still, he shouldn't be _alive_. Stuck inside his misery, Danny never realized that Chin had returned, Steve in tow and the two of them now worriedly flanking where he lay.

A warm hand on his good arm calmed a bit of the pounding in his head, yet the quiet voice brought it back in an instant. "Danno?" It wasn't possible and Danny moaned again, low and mournful when Steve continued his quiet prompting.

"Danny, you're in the hospital. Can you wake up a bit more? Maybe, talk to us ... me ... for a few minutes?"

Steve waited his friend out, once more uncertain as to what to say since Chin had confessed Danny's first few disturbing words. Something of which even Chin was still having difficulty reconciling. Drawing in a worried breath, Steve literally didn't know what to do anymore to help. He second-guessed even his visit at that very moment since he was still badly bruised and Danny might be terribly shocked by what he saw, not understanding that Steve being able to now see out of both eyes was actually a marked improvement.

"Shit, Danny," Steve pressed on regardless of these doubts, insisting on taking Danny's good hand and ignoring the way his friend tried to shirk away from his touch. Wrapping his fingers around Danny's hand, Steve simply held on tight and wished he could open his own near to over-flowing floodgates of emotion. He wanted to yell and curse at the man because his own fear and anger were rippling through him almost non-stop at what Danny had tried to do. But there'd never be a right time for him to really express any of that, so Steve buried it all and locked it up tight.

 _First things, first._ Steve thought quietly as he adopted Chin's mantra to keep things basic and extremely simple. No judgement. No ridiculously trite promises; only plainly simple facts. "I'm here, Danny. I really am and I want you know that I'm okay."

Danny fought what he believed to be true against the very real warmth of Steve's hand. He argued what he had believed to finally open his eyes wide enough to see the blurry outline of a familiar face."I know you feel like shit," Steve whispered. "I know that you believed the worst and I get it ... I do even if I don't want to admit it."

 _And I sure as hell don't like what you tried to do ... and no, I'm not sure I do get all of it,"_ Steve thought to himself, a tendril of fear leaking out no matter his efforts. _"I hate what you tried to do. What the fuck were you thinking! Fuck McCann to hell! Fuck him ... and that God-damned Walker ... both to hell!"_ His breathing altered and his face reddened to further outline the glorious blossom of healing bruises across his cheeks as fear became anger, only a subtle warning hiss from Chin proved that he was losing control and it was becoming obvious.

Steve inhaled deeply to refocus and tamp his emotions firmly down, determined to choose his words carefully and remain on an even keel. He worked hard as Danny desperately sought to focus his muddled eyes, the disbelief and fear much too evident.

"Steve?" Danny asked, his pallor worrisome.

"None other," Steve gently joked. "I'm here for you Danno. Whatever you need and whenever you need it. We're always going to be good and I will always ... _always_ ... have your back no matter what." Steve leaned forward, his hand virtually throttling Danny's as he demanded at least an acknowledgement in some form or another. The lack of response was too long. So incredibly long, that Steve began to worry and he stayed that way even after Danny found something to say because it wasn't what he'd expected. Not by a long shot.

"You're not real. You're a lie … Spense?" Danny squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed convulsively. He couldn't help but return to the penthouse in his head. The place where he'd conjured a version of his partner to give him something to hold on to while Spense … did … while Spense did _things_ Danny wanted desperately to forget. If this was _that_ Steve – and it had to be, because _real_ Steve was dead, Danny had killed him himself – then he hadn't been rescued at all. No one had found him. No one was coming for him. He was utterly and completely alone ... and he deserved to be that way.

" _G'w_ ay. _Pl_ 'se," Danny whispered, both to Spense and fake-Steve, tears running from his still-closed eyes to pool in his ears and dampen his hair.

"I _am_ real, Danny. I'm real and I'm here. I'm right where I'll always be … right by your side, D." Steve tugged on his friend's hand harder this time, refusing to let this one thing go, until the man looked at him once more. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here for you, do you hear me? _Always_."

There was another period of silence as Danny vainly searched Steve's face, fighting to believe in something ... _better_. Something real he could trust in to displace his fearful thoughts. Then, it might not have been wholly convincing. In fact, without sound, it completely lacked conviction and they would all have a long road to travel, but the hesitant nod was a start.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	44. Chapter 44

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

That moment in the ICU was nearly the last time any of them really had time to see Danny. It was a surety that Kono's altercation on the beach that fateful day had been the last time for certain any one of them had spoken to him with any clarity, because even though Chin and Steve had visited and seen to his needs, Danny really hadn't spoken a single word. Twenty-five days after waking in the ICU and now sitting alone in the day room of an exclusive psychiatric center, Danny had taken that stance even farther. All those days later, he was still refusing to speak to or see anyone outside of his doctors or the clinic's talented staff.

"Danny? You have a call," Agnes, one of the nurse's aides was holding the portable handset and waggling it enticingly in front of him. She hid her frown when he wouldn't look up, merely shaking his head to decline the offer.

"Later," Danny murmured quietly. He'd been relocated to the Big Island twenty-one days earlier - on the same afternoon which he'd been released from the hospital - and remanded to the clinic for professional care. Chin had gone with him that first day to make sure he'd been settled, with promises of being available at a moment's notice.

The location was half torment and half relief. Tormenting because, if he'd wanted to, he couldn't readily even see his daughter. And relief due to that very same reason; no one could easily reach out to him. Sure he had his cell phone, but he'd turned it off and hidden it in the top dresser drawer of his small, spartan room. Only on certain days did he turn it on, purposefully turning a blind eye towards the multitude of voicemails to make one call. One very special call to Grace.

Still, he hadn't been entirely able to escape. During those twenty-one days, Chin and Kono had each travelled to the Big Island; taking turns only to be denied their visitation, so finally, like now, resorting to attempts at frequent phone calls.

"It's Commander McGarrett," Agnes softly prodded, the phone pressed to her chest to provide some semblance of coy privacy. She searched his bowed head for a signal that he might give in to his friend. "It's Steve, Danny. He's called almost every day ... are you sure?"

"Later," Danny repeated though knowing now it was Steve and not one of the cousins pinged harder at his bucket of guilt. He didn't know what to say though and couldn't even imagine a conversation except for the obligatory remarks from Steve that he understood or didn't blame Danny. That he was ... _fine_ and able to simply toss what Danny did to the side because of some SEAL-sized ability to forgive and ... forget. But Danny wasn't there yet; not even close and he shook his head again, his peaceful mood ruined. His mind inadvertently swinging south to a bad place; a dangerous spot where he thought he rued Kono's intervention and wondered if he still _could_ do it. The thoughts were distinctly more faint and perhaps not as frequent, but like his nightmares, they were still there.

"Later. Please," he whispered as he argued a very sudden and deepening feeling of depression. Danny would need to confess these feelings during his next counselling session. And he would discuss it ad nauseum with Doctor Forbes who would listen and kindly offer opinion. Danny needed these talks. He desperately needed to avoid that bad space in his head ... and in his heart. Annoyed with himself for going there now, Danny closed his eyes to block Agnes out, squirreling his legs to his chest on the long over-used sofa. He'd claimed the chair as soon as they'd permitted him some free rein in the pretty ground floor recreational room. The small sofa was often in the sun and he had a birds-eye view of the large grassy lawn, perfectly manicured flowering shrubs, and too many palm trees to count. Far removed from the ocean and definitely from the public, the high-end facility was peaceful and, at times, more than Danny felt he deserved. But the Governor - at Chin Ho's behest - had made this very special effort for one of their own.

Eyes closed and trying to force his heart to calm from its momentary off-kilter pounding, Danny listened as Agnes politely spoke to Steve before she ended the call. He was only putting off the inevitable, still he couldn't help it. Not yet. According to Doctor Forbes, he would grow beyond his shame and he'd eventually be ready to confront those he'd hurt so badly. Chin, Kono and God help him, especially Steve. But not yet because he couldn't forgive himself and because frighteningly, he still had the occasional inclination to do something more definitive. Especially after the still too frequent vivid nightmare or the eerie sparkle of an horrific remembered event. Terrible things which he couldn't anticipate which therefore meant, that he couldn't trust himself. A session with Doctor Forbes might set him off for all the good the man was providing. Or, an odor or even the simple daily task of taking a hot shower. Danny never knew what the impetus might be and he remained on edge ... scared even.

Danny felt Agnes leave and he relaxed, her shadow briefly flickering across his face when her small frame momentary blocked the sunlight. She'd discreetly report him to Doctor Forbes - the refusal. His relative silence and continued unsocial tendencies. It was a kindly, dutiful act. He knew she was required to do so and didn't resent it at all. The clinic was a good place and everyone meant well. He knew that and he accepted it all without question. Of late, he often looked forward to his sessions with Doctor Forbes, his head was more clear and he'd begun to gain some weight back, though not much of his strength or usual stamina. He was healthier, but not healthy.

Danny sat there for over an hour as he often did, thinking and staring out of the big window. Searching for an endless void of nothingness to fill his mind so he could escape dwelling about where everything had gone so horribly wrong. He sat there playing games inside his head where he had options, including one where he simply chose to sink farther away into the void so he'd never have to return. But he just couldn't do it ... he couldn't find the true wherewithal to fade that far and so he always resurfaced ... alive ... because those few Sundays he'd been there were nice times. Quiet times where he'd not be required to do any kind of formal therapy whatsoever. He was left to his druthers to read, watch television or even walk the garden if he so desired. Escorted of course, but never so much so that he'd feel a prisoner. Slowly but surely, he was rediscovering himself.

It was also the day when a multitude of family visited for the facilities' other patients and his current attention was fixated on the activity. He liked to watch the comings and goings, oftentimes a small smile flitting across his lips when balloons popped out of a taxi before the excited husband, wife or some other family member. It was getting later in the morning now though and things were starting to die down a bit. Danny's interest waned and he sighed tiredly as he considered taking a walk in the garden.

He had time before the activity would resume as it always did; picking up for the late afternoon dinner visits. People would begin to leave during that time too, tears in their eyes and a sadness in their step. It was an interesting dynamic which he couldn't help analyzing with some sense of detached interest.

Danny shifted in his seat, intending now to take that short walk. After, it would be time to call his daughter and he smiled to himself in anticipation. But something stopped him in his tracks. A faint silhouette; familiar and oddly foreboding as it drew his attention. An older man was walking alone in the distant garden. Tall and broad-shouldered. _Dark hair sprinkled with silver._

It couldn't be _him_ and yet Danny felt a jolt of fear as he fought a weird memory of Spense. Something tickled the fringes of his memories. An uncomfortable feeling of cold coupled with a high view of Waikiki at night and he shivered uncontrollably, his heart set to pounding all over again.

"Shit," he murmured while forcing himself first to acknowledge the memory for what it was and then brutally discard it as such which Forbes had been coaching him to do. A brief recognition of a badly fractured impression prompted by a simple visual cue. Something so broken it lacked a start or end; neither good nor helpful. Not useful. Not tangible. Completely not worth the anxiety nor his fretfulness to remember. He smiled broadly then as a new memory replaced it. A real one. A very valid memory. In fact, Danny almost laughed, the unfamiliar and long-lost happy crinkles near his eyes brightly flaring for an instant.

Steve's voice. _"You don't need those memories anyway, Danno."_

There was little doubt that Forbes would agree and he'd also heartily laugh at the blunt similarity to his own advice. The psychiatrist was a jovial man, pleasant and gregarious. He was steadily pulling Danny out of his funk by the size of his personality alone. There was a noise outside then and Danny looked up, the smile still lightening the stress on his face. He watched with some interest as a police cruiser slowly pulled up to park on the curb. But then his smile faltered and he shook his head in exasperation as the driver's side door opened and his partner quite unexpectedly slid out from behind the wheel.

Just three days earlier, Chin had again been his impromptu visitor and Danny had almost agreed to see him before opting out. But this was Steve's first and Danny unfolded his legs, standing to nervously watch his friend's bold walk to the front door. It was apparently why the man had called just an hour earlier. Steve had been on his way over and had wanted to talk to him first. He was here now though and taking long strides up the walk to the main entrance. There, Danny lost sight of him and at that, he stood stock still in the sunny dayroom as an illogical fear seemed to steal his ability to think.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued gushing of thanks for such interest in this (very long) story. References to the teens below and their 'story' is borrowed from an actual newspaper report of the same ilk.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Something made him wait instead of fleeing to the safety of his room. But the minutes passed by and no one came for him. Not a soul and Danny swallowed hard, bewildered and not a small bit alarmed. He edged back to the window and felt his heart inexplicably drop to the floor when he found that the police cruiser was gone from the curbside.

Steve had come and then had left without asking to see him ... and Danny had no right to be upset because it's what he'd wanted. _Right?_

"Danny?" His head flew up, eyes wide at the query, his confusing conflict of disappointment and relief at a distinct war when he saw only one person. Agnes was back and holding a bag out to him to take. "The Commander was here and he left this for you. I was going to come for you, but he didn't want to disturb you if you didn't feel up to his visit. He left a note inside for you to read."

"Oh," Danny breathed out, his hand shaking as he took the bag's handles and peered inside. There was a white box tied with thin brown string and what looked like a sealed envelope. A gift and a letter then; and Danny felt himself relax. This was good ... this made sense and yet he couldn't stop shaking.

"Are you all right?" Agnes asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, Agnes, I'll be in my room," he said distractedly as he left, ignorant of Agnes' pleased smile as his entire demeanor softened.

In the privacy of his room, Danny opened the box first, trying not laugh when he smelled the surprise. Malasadas. Enough for an army. The sweet smell from the bakery was soothing and for the first time in a long time, Danny's stomach rumbled in hunger. Two dozen were indeed enough malasadas for an army!

"Navy, _Danno_ ," he kidded himself, genuinely smiling at the thoughtful gesture. Almost _laughing_ then as he popped one and then a second into his mouth. Under that was yet another box he hadn't noticed, plus what looked like a get well card, and he wiped the sugar on his slacks, leaving light streaks of buttery grease across the material before diving back into the bag.

"Ah, Steve!" Danny hummed happily at the unexpected second find: his iPod, with charger and headphones. _Music_.

Pausing only for a third malasada, Danny ripped the first envelope open, grinning from ear to ear when he quickly identified Grace's handiwork. She still enjoyed making home-made cards of any kind and Danny simply couldn't appreciate that talent more than he did that very moment. But then, the special gift was made ten times more precious as a new photograph dropped neatly into his lap.

Danny harrumphed happily under his breath as he held the photo, inhaling Grace's latest school picture. She was growing up, yet still was maintaining the same sweet-natured personality which so clearly sparkled though. He wracked his brain for what what he might have to put it in, but came up empty. He'd need to run out and buy a new frame as soon as he could and he stuck that task at the top of his new to do list once he got home.

Smiling broadly, Danny carefully put the card and photo off to the side, now going after the one remaining envelope. He knew without a doubt the note inside would be from Steve. He ripped it open, the stationary from the clinic itself, catching a small piece of paper in his lap which he ignored in favor of the handwritten note. Eyes alight, he read the first few lines and then paused mid-chew. His brow crinkled and his chin jutted out pensively.

_Hey, Danno. Try not to eat all the malasadas in one sitting. I'll be here until Tuesday, so call me anytime. I'll come back over. In the meantime, enjoy the malasadas and music. Sorry about the Camaro, buddy. I wanted to tell you in person. Maybe this was a bad idea because you sure as hell might not want to call me now. It wasn't my fault though ... honest. It was parked ... just parked in the driveway! So - anyway - I just wanted to say that I need ya back ... soon._

"My car?" Danny's eyes widened when he realized what the small piece of paper was in his lap. It was a cash register receipt. Detailed from the preferred HPD auto-body mechanic and Danny gasped out loud, words now tumbling from his mouth without a filter.

"Two thousand dollars in damages? Two _thousand_! You _animal_! What the hell happened to my car!? Damn straight you're coming back here!"

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Steve glanced often at his cell phone as he drove, wondering if he might hear from his friend within the hour ... or possibly not at all. He'd taken a chance on adding the Camaro to the note. Danny's sleek ride was - after all - _Danny's_ pride and joy. For all of their ongoing teasing and what sounded like a battle of wills, the Camaro was wholly Danny's from its front splitter to its rear spoiler. But what had happened had been a freak accident. And, on any other day, if it had happened to _any other person that is_ , completely entertaining.

"Come on, Danno," he sighed sadly, drawing to a halt at a red light near to his hotel. "Call me, D. Just for a few minutes." He'd been cleared to travel, was back at work and felt relatively good with only a minor twinge of abdominal pain should he move too quickly or over-do his activity. But he was desperate to see Danny and talk to him. He understood that Danny had essentially lost that first week in the clinic. He'd done nothing but sleep and rest for an entire seven days before anything more substantial with Doctor Forbes. Evidently this was normal and expected for many in Danny's circumstances, however the time was grueling for Steve and weighing heavily on his mind.

The decision to visit the Big Island was an easy one to make, yet it hadn't been taken lightly. Steve knew he could very well be denied his visit and so, was diligently prepared for that very event on every level except emotionally. Therefore, he was incredibly disappointed to have his call declined and had forced himself to not even request an audience once he'd dropped the small gift bag off at the front desk. He'd maintained his cool, stuck to his plan B and respectfully _walked away_.

And that was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. He needed to see Danny with his own two eyes. See him. Talk to him. One on one. Make him smile and maybe even laugh.

"Call me. Call me ... _call me_ ," Steve chanted under his breath as he checked into the hotel. He repeated it as an endless loop in the elevator, as he shoved his room card key into the slot and slid the heavy curtains wide open to his view of a stunningly gorgeous green valley. It was then that his cell phone did ring and Steve bobbled the device, a grin splitting his face wide when Danny's number flashed across the screen.

"Danno!" Steve gushed happily, completely unable to even wonder if he should have more carefully couched his answer. But he was fine based on Danny's first words and then, Steve did laugh.

_"You Neanderthal throw-back to prehistoric times! What the hell did you do to my car, Steven?! My car! Mine! And who the hell said you could even drive the damned thing!"_

"Hey Danno," Steve replied fondly, any other words completely cut off as Danny interrupted him, his rant gaining ground at a startling rate. Steve's grin knew no bounds as he embraced the verbal tongue-lashing. But then he realized he was being pelleted with questions. _Questions_ he was suddenly expected to answer.

_"Danno? Hey ... DANNO? Are you serious, Steven?! Is that all you have to say to me about two thousand dollars worth of body work?"_

Standing on the high balcony of his hotel room, Steve gazed out across the green expanse of valley, but his attention was solely focused on the voice in his ear. The one that soon demanded that he definitely return to the clinic the very next day and explain himself, after Danny's mid-morning session with Doctor Forbes. Steve didn't care what he was required to do as long as he got to see his partner. Until Danny pushed for more information right then and there.

_"Details, Steven." Danny insisted. "I want details about what happened to my car! What the hell happened? Can't I leave you alone for more than five whole minutes? Now ... tell me what happened."_

"Umm, well. Now? You want me to go into it now?" Steve visibly winced as he tried to find the right words to say. "It would be better if I explained in person, D, because you really aren't going to believe it." The story was truly unbelievable. _Incredible_ actually and a total farce created by two inebriated, sex-starved teens. Mix two kids on a date under the light of a full moon, add a touch of alcohol and libidos on over-drive, and what do you get? Yes, an accident waiting to happen in some cases. But _then_ this particular story got so much better. Take those ingredients all one step further by adding _a real live UFO_. At least according to the teens who had both been admittedly babbling in fear by the time Steve had managed to get them out of their own car; relieved neither had so much as a scratch despite their airbags having been deployed.

 _"Try me,"_ Danny goaded from the other side of the connection. He waited a hairs-breadth and then pushed again. _"I'm waiting, Steve ... this should be good ... so try me."_

"Well, yeah ...okay," Steve replied, the wince becoming a painful grimace as he fought to edit those very same details. "Just ... _ah_ ... two kids out for a joy-ride. Jumped the curb and wound up in my driveway. Sort of ... landing ...on top of the Camaro."

 _"On ... top?"_ Danny wheezed loudly. _"Two kids? On top of my car? How the hell did that happen - pray tell - in a residential neighborhood? How fast were they going in a 15 mile per hour zone? Mach 10?"_

"Hmm, sort of on top," Steve hummed pensively, his eyes blinking wildly as he mentally tried to edit the aftermath of what he saw against what the kids had claimed. "And yeah ... fast enough." He stammered, stuttered and lost his train of thought entirely. The silence was deafening, yet Steve didn't know what to say based on what the teens _claimed_ happened.

 _That a UFO pursued them down the street, picked them up and literally deposited them ... right on top of the Camaro._ If he didn't know better himself ... he'd almost be on their side ... the damage was rather ... strange. Weird even.

Steve coughed and then groaned, his hand now viciously scrubbing his hair to make it stand on end. He hadn't anticipated being grilled over the phone so intensely. Yet for all of that, he couldn't wipe the shit-eating grin off his face. He'd missed this ... the verbal sparring ... the acid-tongued battle ... and he simply couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped his lips.

 _"Steven?"_ Danny's annoyance jarred him back to the present. _"Did you just laugh? Are you seriously laughing at me ... at what happened to my car? I fail to see how any of this is amusing!"_

"I'll explain more when I see you," Steve offered hopefully, needing to bite his lip to maintain some semblance of seriousness. "Over lunch? Can I ... _we_ ... just talk over lunch? Please ... Danno ... today? Tomorrow?"

 _"Fine,"_ Danny muttered disgustedly, finally relenting. There was a pause now on his side. One that reeked of a new indecision and Steve held his breath, worried that he'd gone too far and that Danny had changed his mind. A moment later though Danny recovered, his voice softer and decidedly more subdued. _"Tomorrow. I see Doctor Forbes at eleven in the morning - come for lunch and bring something edible, Steven. Edible ... as in real food. Not this organic green stuff that I'm being subjected to."_

"You bet, D.," Steve agreed quickly. "I can do that. Edible ... not green. I'll see you around Noon."

The connection ended to the sound of an unintelligible mumble of disgust and Steve grinned. He was truly happy. Beyond relieved, however a moment of melancholy snuck in just under the surface as he replayed his earlier promises. The conversation had been better than good, nonetheless he was still worried and very nervous about what the next day might bring.

"Always. Forever," Steve whispered just under his breath before he turned away from the view, his eyes now on the small bar which the room boasted. He needed a drink ... he needed to boldly make a toast to this unconditional vow to see his partner heal.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	46. Chapter 46

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Estimating its end, Steve arrived to the clinic exactly one hour after Danny's session was supposed to have begun with Doctor Forbes. Trying to act relaxed and be unhurried, he ambled comfortably though the main door precisely at Noon despite how he really felt on the inside and then checked in at the main desk. He shifted the bag he carried from hand to hand, the enticing aroma of food wafting distractedly though the air. He'd bought what felt like half the deli just to be sure something might appeal to Danny's appetite.

"Are you Commander McGarrett?" The man asking was short and rotund, with a pair of mischievous eyes set within a comical face. Steve automatically grinned on sight, extending his free hand instantly towards who he instinctively recognized as Danny's doctor.

"Yes. Doctor Forbes ... am I right?" Steve asked, pleased that he had the fortune to meet the physician so quickly.

"That you are," Forbes said pleasantly. "Danny's in his room ... resting." The way he said _resting_ put Steve instantly on guard and he scowled as the doctor's tone became more serious. "He had a vivid flashback during our session; he's fine but needs some time to get himself composed. Follow me to my office. He's expecting you of course, but asked that I fill you in on ... what happened."

"He did?" Steve asked more to himself than to Forbes as he obediently followed him down the long hallway.

"He did," Forbes concurred bluntly. "Waivers included which makes you his medical proxy, unless this is a significant conflict of interest since you are his boss?"

" _Not_ a conflict," Steve retaliated almost immediately before softening his defensiveness. "None at all." Forbes' eyebrows had rocketed into his hairline at the onset of his outburst causing Steve to mentally backpedal. He put the bag of food on the floor and then rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans. Trying to find the right words, he sat down in the spare guest chair, looking around the office and registering the airy, comfortable atmosphere. He approved and was glad that Chin had worked so hard to find just the right spot for Danny to get back on his feet. Steve smiled apologetically as he rephrased his reply.

"No, doc, there's no conflict whatsoever. Danny and I ... we're friends first and foremost. I'll do whatever it takes to help him and I have the same sense of ... wanting to protect Danny ... protect Danny's _privacy_ ... just as you do."

"Hmm," Forbes quizzically murmured. He was staring closely at Steve and analyzing him as if under a microscope. Steve stared right back, challenging the doctor to read anything other than his honesty and determination to support Danny one thousand percent.

"Let's get to it then," Forbes said, apparently appeased. "Danny's much improved and steadily gaining ground. He's learning to cope with his PTSD and whatever triggers seem to spark a bad memory. He's coming to terms with what was done to him - he's actually learning to process what happened in a very admirable way."

"Process?" Steve jumped in questioningly.

"Process," the doctor stated as he held his hands up wide. "Meaning that he's learning to integrate what happened to him into his daily life - and I say it's admirable because Danny's a smart man. He's _smart_ and knows that he can get his sense of self back; his sense of being in control. He _wants_ to get better and wants to conquer these demons."

"But it's going to take time," Steve added much to Forbes' professional delight. "Months and maybe even years with what those ... _maniacs_ ... did to him."

"Time and patience from his friends and family," Forbes said, his eyes narrowing at Steve's flare of justifiable anger. "He's going to have numerous setbacks along the way and may not even know why. But in my professional opinion, he's on a good track."

Steve was listening, but he could only imagine what might have sent Danny back to his room after his session - to _rest_ of all things. Dreams? Flashbacks? The slimy feel of McCann's hands or Walker's sadistic torture? Or, the damnable tiny, claustrophobic room on the freighter. So many things ... so many unfair _things_ to deal with and Steve dismally shook his head. "Setbacks like whatever happened with you this morning?" Steve softly added.

"Precisely," the doctor reiterated blandly, drawing Steve back to the discussion at hand. "He needs to get through them - process them - have help in understanding that what he's feeling isn't pleasant, but it's normal."

"So, what do I do then?" Steve asked. "I mean, I've tried to help him before and ... what _happened_ ... it clearly wasn't enough or was even wrong. I wasn't what he needed. None of us were."

Doctor Forbes looked down then, heaving his ample girth back into his plush chair thoughtfully. Danny had confessed all of his fears - fact or fiction derived from possible fact - right down to his feelings of shame for attacking his best friend and then trying to kill himself. Not all of his complaints had to do with the abuse he'd suffered at Spenser McCann's or Dylan Walker's hands. He'd hurt his friends and feared he'd do the same to his daughter. The worries were valid and the abuse he'd suffered through was the direct culprit for his actions.

"None of us blames him for anything he might have said ... or done," Steve suddenly shared as if reading the doctor's mind. "We just want him to get well ... we want him back home. Where he belongs. Just tell me what to do."

Forbes smiled warmly at that admission, which was really a plea for direction. Through his patient, he also knew that the man sitting directly in front of him that very moment equally blamed himself. Forbes almost said something about that and then changed his mind. Instead, he stuck to his case at hand and gave a curt nod before giving the best advice he could offer.

"He wants to see you today when he hasn't wanted to entertain anyone since he first arrived. He's progressing well, Commander, and I'd like him to carry on this course despite this morning's episode. He'll discuss what he wants, when he wants to bring it up. Just listen and be there for him. That's your only job in this. _That_ ...," and Forbes gave Steve a sly wink as he pointed to the large bag of food. "... and getting him to eat whatever it is you brought for lunch."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny lay curled up on his right side, eyes closed and still-casted arm tucked into his chest. He was on top of the sheets and the breeze from his window occasionally flowed over his body. It wasn't a comforting feeling at all, however even partly awake, he needed to know that he wasn't stuck inside some stagnant black hole. _With Walker._ He couldn't explain what had happened during his session with Forbes, not one bit. But whatever the trigger, the outcome and its fallout had left him feeling ill and battle weary.

He sensed movement in the outer corridor, heard the occasional murmur of a distant voice, and then felt the presence of someone hovering just inside the doorway to his room. All normal for the clinical setting and yet he shivered involuntarily as the breeze buffeted his shoulder. His feet were bare too and he was colder than he should be, and he knew that he was positioning himself for another disaster by not finding the wherewithal to at least cover himself with the spare blanket which lay rumpled at the foot of his bed. But he was too physically worn out and much too anxious to even twitch a single finger.

The person in the doorway moved closer as Danny's brow furrowed in discomfort and he automatically shielded his injured arm with his upper body. He was half aware and half in dream, uncertain of his true safety. Nonetheless he eventually sighed peacefully as the coveted blanket was draped first over his feet and then his shoulders.

 _Slowly. Attentively._ Danny knew who it was then and he relaxed fully, more content as the familiar voice whispered over his head.

"It's only me," Steve whispered reassuringly when Danny fidgeted and protectively wrapped his free hand around his casted arm. There was a soft uncertain murmur as the lines in his face deepened almost in fear when Steve slowly pulled the light weight blanket over his shoulders, tucking it in just enough. But then his tense expression eased and Danny sighed on a soft exhale, his body virtually melting into the mattress of the small bed.

"Rest, Danny. Go to sleep. Lunch can wait. I can wait," Steve gently promised. His voice was quiet, subdued and entirely soothing. "I'll wait."

Looking down at his friend, Steve wound up sighing as well. He scrubbed at his face, unable to stop worrying even though Danny seemed to have gone into a deeper sleep almost instantly now. He quietly sat in the one available chair and looked around the small room, seeing the evidence of his prior day's gifts. The school picture of Grace propped up just so that Danny would be able to see it from his pillow. The well worn bakery box, trail of crumbs on the side table, and the iPod right there on the edge of the bed within easy reach, as though Danny must have changed his mind about listening to the music.

Steve stretched out long in the chair, his eyes noticing everything while he listened to the various sounds from the busy hallway. The sun was streaming in through the window, and the breeze from outside did indeed feel pleasant, a scent of flowers barely there. He sighed again; entirely resolute. The indefatigable sound just audible in the small room as he crossed his ankles comfortably to wait for however long it might take.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KQ says: The emotional wounds of trauma run far deeper, bleed more freely and often hurt far more than the visible scars it leaves behind. Those of us who survive it live with those memories forever. They do not disappear, nor do they feel any less real, but with the support of loved ones and professional help, they become a part of us instead of owning our very soul.
> 
> "When we feel weak, we drop our heads on the shoulders of others. Don't get mad when someone does that. Be honored. For that person trusted you enough to, even if subtly, ask you for help." Lori Goodwin.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"What are you doing? Come on over and eat something ... I brought everything I could think of." Steve had his back turned away from Danny as he setup his fairly elaborate lunch. The smile in his tone was catchy because Agnes had pointed them towards a fairly private table off to the side of the sunny lanai. It was perfect and truth be told, Steve was starving, too. Talking over his shoulder, he rattled off each thing he pulled from the bag he'd brought, pleased that Danny had slept for almost an hour waking seemingly back on track and hungry. With that latter declaration admitted, Steve was more than happy to oblige.

"I've got a few different kinds of sandwiches. Ham and swiss sliders, barbecue pork on sweet rolls, a _huge_ turkey and bacon sub with avocado and a tuna wrap. And sides? Take your pick!"

Steve grinned appreciatively at the spread. There wasn't a single thing he hadn't thought of but Danny had yet to budge from where he stood facing a pretty section of the garden. The sunlight was filtered by a heavy swath of palms and greenery, creating a glare and Steve had difficulty seeing his face. "Danny?"

His friend still didn't respond though. Head bowed as he stared at a distant spot somewhere beyond, he was completely zoned out and oblivious to Steve's chatter.

"Shit," Steve whispered, wondering if he should go for help. He glanced towards the large lanai and into the rear of the clinic. The French doors were open to the air and he could see the shadows of people inside. He even thought he recognized Agnes, but instead of summoning assistance, he softly walked to where Danny was standing.

"Hey, Danny? You okay?" Steve bent his head to look up into Danny's face, scowling at the dead, sightless gaze and twinge of alarm when he saw the tiny beads of sweat peppering his upper lip. Steve's instincts were to reach out and touch Danny's hand or arm, but he had learned far too well to fight these natural urges.

_Space._

_Patience_.

 _Time_.

The three things Steve had thought contrary to his partner's needs until he'd realised his error; that knowledge too late to prevent the chain of events which had landed them both here now. Steve's own guilt in that regard had occupied his mind as he recovered from the evidence of that failure, alongside his disdain for the perpetrators of his best friend's anguish. As Danny began to tremble before him, his ire returned and he silently damned them both to eternal hell.

"Danny?" Steve asked softly, his tone pleading as he tried to call his partner back to the present with as little stress as possible. He didn't know where to begin though or what to say, so he fished for words. Carefully trying to find something that might make sense and help. "Danny. Look at me. I need you to look at me. Wherever you are ... whatever you're thinking about ... _whoever_ you're thinking about ... he's gone, too."

"I know he's dead, Steve." Hollow and lacking sincerity, the words meant nothing and everything all at once. A part of his awareness knew that Steve would have no clue as to what he was thinking, so Danny hesitated before forcing the name out. "Walker. I know he's dead, but ... it's so hard."

Stuck half in another place and time, Danny's voice waned to nothing. He continued to stare at the glistening greenery, the enormous broad leaves catching the sun in just the right way to capture his attention. He thought about Leon and then switched over to McCann. But he fell into Walker's hell again - just as he had that very same morning with Doctor Forbes. A buzzing swarm of insects circled crazily in and then out of the shade as if they were dancing in a weird spotlight. He focused on their incessant ball of motion, transfixed. Yet, then got lost entirely in his mind where he saw Waikiki at night blurred into a riot of smeared lights. There was nothing else but a feeling that came with that memory. A claustrophobic feeling of being trapped and _touched_ ; and he was cold. So very, very _cold_.

"Yeah, he is." Steve affirmed bluntly while he closely watched Danny before his friend's gaze eerily slid over to meet his own. His eyes were glassy and not entirely focusing on his face. Steve felt he should say something else; something more smart and uniquely helpful, so he tried to find the best words to express his support. "And I know ... I can imagine ... how damned hard this is for you. I'm sorry, Danno. I'm here if you want to talk or just ... hang out like we planned and have something to eat."

Danny was having a bad day and Steve felt distinctly out of his league after not having seen him for so long. He'd been told that Danny had slept often that first week in the clinic. He'd rested and slept for hours as his body gained some ground to heal. Then slowly and steadily, his sessions with Doctor Forbes had begun to see benefits. But when he had a bad time, such as now, he'd resort to sleeping and fighting to rediscover his mental footing. He'd turn into himself; often refusing to talk and to engage in even the most idle of conversations, which made things beyond difficult.

Steve forced himself to wait and stay quiet. Overall, things were so much better and he inhaled sharply, recalling Doctor Forbes' wise words to stay the course and allow Danny the room to _process_. However, Forbes had duly warned Steve of the blip during their morning session. That episode came to mind now and he couldn't help but be worried. Evidently that moment had taken a firmer hold on Danny's psyche and Steve doubted what he'd been told.

"Maybe lunch? It's time for you to eat something; you must be starving," Steve gently prodded. "Aren't you hungry? You had a busy morning, Danno."

At first, Danny's eyes stayed just as blank. Just as frighteningly empty and Steve couldn't hide his pained wince. The silence wasn't normal and though he lacked the right words, he ached to fill the void.

"Is that what you wanted to tell me about?" Danny asked as he stayed completely stuck in his thoughts. He closed his eyes tightly to purge the whisper of a sadistic laugh and forgot entirely where he was and who he was speaking to. He forgot about Steve and fell into a confusing half-reality. "About Walker. How he died?"

"How he ... _what_ ... died? No, not at all," Steve replied evenly though his heart was pounding wildly in his chest. He took a chance walking closer and taking Danny's good arm in an attempt to draw his attention anywhere except where he was.

"You know what happened, Danno. Where are you in that head of yours, buddy?" Steve was wholly perplexed by the unexpected comments. Danny knew precisely how Walker had died and he couldn't even imagine as to the portent of this particular conversation. Keeping to what he'd been coached through as options, Steve repeated his original statement. "Remember lunch? I brought over a ton of food and I ... I'm starving. Let's go eat something."

"What?' Danny stared for another long moment until he realized what - _no_ _who_ \- he was really seeing. Not Walker at all, but Steve. Solid, whole and warm; and incredibly upset despite his concerted effort to be quietly stoic. "Sorry," he blurted softly as Walker's leer and sick laugh faded to nothing. "I don't know what I was even thinking about anymore. Walker's dead. I know he's dead ... I don't know what I was thinking." His eyes refocused on Steve's and he heaved in a shuddered breath of air. But behind Steve, just in the shadows of the thick vegetation, he still felt the cold and he shivered as a sunbeam of light shifted ever so slightly.

"Sorry, Steve. Lunch?" Danny repeated after he forced himself back to the present. His session with Forbes had conjured something dark and despite a nap, he remained off balance and completely distracted. Still lost in parts of musty unhappy memories and completely uncertain as to the impetus behind what felt like an out of body experience, Danny knew that he was scaring Steve and it wasn't fair after declining his visit for so long.

"You brought lunch?" Danny asked again, his attempt was commendable no matter the weakness of his voice. "You're right. We should eat something."

"You're okay here," Steve whispered. "You are ... it's a nice Monday afternoon and you're okay. I promise." Steve's hands were now on Danny's shoulders as he bent forward to stay firmly in his friend's line of sight and Danny forced his fingers to uncurl, extending his right hand to cover Steve's. Ice cold met comfortably warm and Danny jolted in surprise at the difference. He jerked a nod, agreeing in a way because things were better. He was safe and desperate to find a new normal.

"Yeah, lunch," Steve said just as calmly as before, but he took advantage to envelope Danny's hand now in both of his own. He frowned then, displeased by what he felt and silently cursing McCann, Walker and whomever else he could think responsible to the depths of Hell and back again, chanting the wish nonstop inside his head. But with Danny now staring at their joined hands, he was positive that Danny didn't even know what he'd just said. He scowled unconsciously as another idea strayed into his head. He didn't know where it came from; possibly from some old training. Or he'd read it in a book or heard it in passing.

 _Danny hadn't openly grieved yet for himself._ He'd had the break on the beach and gone to a bad, dark and very evil place. However, the emotions still ran deeply and he'd never truly released them. He'd fretted, whined and begged to know why such terrible things had been done to him; God knew he'd lashed out in anger and in fury. He'd shed a few tears now and again; been depressed. Quiet; overly reserved but for Danny? No, there was so much more to come as the other side of the pendulum swung harshly back.

"Danny, let's go take a walk," Steve quietly suggested. "Not too far, just around the garden where it's private; or maybe just find a spot to sit and talk." He heaved in a shuddered breath as Danny vibrated beneath his hand. He could feel it happening; he could literally feel the real breakdown on the verge of _happening_ at that very moment. There was no doubt that it would be intense and ugly. Danny would be left physically devastated, but it was bound to happen. And on a different island, under a wise doctor's care with only Steve present, maybe it would be all right.

"Look at me," Steve demanded more firmly. He waited until Danny looked up from where he'd trapped his hand. He was worried because the blank expression was lingering and it was as if Danny wasn't even sure he was really in the same time zone. He knew he was completely right as he insistently tugged Danny into his side and wordlessly guided him towards a shady alcove where there was a white garden bench, a private spot far enough away and yet close at the same time. Everything about this place was as perfect as could be and Steve readied himself as he realized this was the only way he could truly help.

"I'm ... _o'okay_ ," Danny blurted completely at a loss as to Steve's change in tact. " _St-Steve_? _Wh'wher_ e are we going?" His voice sounded broken and it cracked on each word. His breathing hitched without warning as his chest inexplicably tightened like a vise. He stumbled blindly along, not thinking too hard as he and Steve settled on the small wooden bench. Side by side, knee to knee, Danny didn't question why Steve still had yet to release him either.

"Your hands are like ice," Steve prompted softly. His voice was low and quiet, professional advice be damned about waiting and providing space. He could sense what was going to happen and now wasn't the time at all to follow professional advice. If he had one thing in his favor, it was Danny himself and Steve knew him more than the well-meaning Forbes. He knew Danny better than anyone.

"Talk to me," he coached into Danny's hair. "Say anything. _Anything_ you want."

"He kept it cold inside on purpose ... so, I'd want ... want _him_ ," Danny whispered suddenly. "Then ... Walker ... it _hurt_ so much. How am I going to do this? _How_?" He closed his eyes, leaning into Steve as he had when he'd been found that final day with Walker. He was shaking more than ever as a teeth-clacking chill spread uncontrollably through his bones. Almost as if he might be in the grips of a palsy and for some reason, he couldn't stop as a tear rolled down his cheek. He was balled up inside; taut like a rubber-band, thrumming and ready to break and it only began to loosen as another hot tear followed the first to sear his cheek.

"Steve?" Danny whispered. He was scared again. Petrified as something he couldn't hope to control twanged painfully inside his chest. His voice faded, then it was gone and it was all he could do to breathe.

"It's just you and me right now," Steve whispered as he felt Danny weakly fight what would become an onslaught of mind-numbing sobs which would eventually lead him to a higher plane of healing. He tucked him in closer to his chest, one hand continuously rubbing soothingly up and down Danny's arm as the internal war was soon lost. He was talking softly now, knowing that Danny couldn't hear the words. But understanding that was also all right, because the words wouldn't matter anyway.

"No one else; so let it out. Do what you need to do, Danny and if this is how I can help you ... if this is what you _need_ right now ... it's okay. I'm right here. _Always_."

_**~ END ~** _


	48. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A certain bunny insisted on this purge. The other bunny cohort kindly agreed!

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Why did I _ever_ believe him?" Danny asked to no one in particular. He was standing on a pretty bluff, staring out at the ocean and whispering just under his breath. The sun was high in the sky, yet it wasn't too hot as a strong wind buffeted him. He was almost back to his old self yet he dwelled too much and stayed too quiet at times. As he still often did, he went back in time with his thoughts. Far back, to McCann's first phone call from Steve's house and he wondered what he could have done differently. He beat himself up for what he believed to be his own fault.

They'd talked about it of course. He and Steve had talked quietly about their fears and wishes an endless amount of times. Their individual apologies had been heartfelt and emotional. In short, Steve blamed _Steve_ and Danny ... well, he blamed _himself_ much the same way. But at the end of the day, neither of them had a choice. Neither had been in control.

As Kono had bravely pointed out, Steve had been overwhelmed by sheer numbers, then shot at close range. If Danny hadn't taken the bait, that trigger would have been pulled anyway and Steve most certainly would have died. Conversely, if he'd been prepared for the trap, would that outcome have had much chance of being different? It was useless to agonize over the what-ifs. Even Danny's wonderful doctor at the clinic had shared a similar rationale.

There was only one viable truth left to consider. Terrible things had happened, but at least Danny and Steve were both alive and that was the only reality which mattered.

"Nice view," Steve said. He'd been watching Danny like a hawk since his discharge from the clinic. Now back on Oahu for nearly three weeks, Steve was relearning how to give his friend just enough space to not appear stifling. Room to discover himself and find a way to stand firmly on his own two feet, yet never traveling too far away just in case Danny needed him. So it was a difficult dance for each of them, but it was oddly comfortable at the same time prompted by that moment back at the clinic. That singular private moment with Steve outside in the garden had been pivotal for Danny. He'd finally purged until he'd been left physically wrung out with nothing left to give and Steve had quietly taken over for him. He'd needed Steve then in a way he hadn't considered. He simply needed him _there_.

"Never gets old does it?" Steve added, now shoulder to shoulder with his friend and wholly content except for one outstanding key issue. He glanced surreptitiously to his right, his mouth opening and then closing as if wanting to ask. But then, he decided not to, afraid it would be a mistake.

"No. No, it doesn't," Danny replied without taking his eyes from the white capped azure. He had his bad arm cradled to his side, an occasional ache remained deep in the bone despite the cast being removed days earlier. When it hurt, like it did now, he tumbled back in time and it took an effort to shake himself from the bad memories and self-doubt. It was like Steve knew his thoughts during those moments and he'd appear by his side. Calm. Supportive. But something was bothering his partner, and Danny made a face before needing to ask when he sensed the usual calm diminish just enough.

"What?" He asked, his eyes still staring blindly straight ahead out over the bluff. "Just say it."

"Okay," Steve paused briefly and then forged on. "Have you made a decision yet?" He prodded gently, the hope in his voice unmistakable and enough for Danny to forget where he'd just been inside his head.

Danny chuffed a patient, knowing sound at that question, intentionally loud enough for Steve to hear. Cleared to return to work more than a week earlier, Danny hadn't acted on the clearance. Steve was anxious and trying not to invade his right to decide on his own terms when that date might be. It was no lie though that Steve had been hoping it would be soon and he suddenly needed to voice the question.

Instead of replying, Danny closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He was decidedly more content; his mind clear thanks to Doctor Forbes' fine skills. He was far removed from that desperately despondent person on a lonely beach and he acknowledged that fact. If he had another question to ask himself after why he might have believed McCann's initial call in Steve's house, it would be how had he allowed himself to fall so far?

" _Enough_ ," he murmured softly as he harshly dumped those considerations to the wayside. It was done. Over. He had better things to do and a life to live more wisely as he sensed Steve's worried fidget and then felt the taller man's arm bump his shoulder. A coy smiled flickered across his lips as he considered a playful response. He'd well decided what he was going to do that morning, but he was sorely tempted to suddenly to play a joke on his partner. They'd both been far too serious for far too long. And now, for whatever reason, Danny felt a surge of an old caustic humor.

So, he bit his lip and he shrugged noncommittally, sneaking a glance through his lashes at Steve's face. He turned instantly though when he saw the crestfallen look, his own urge for what would be an ill-timed joke, completely snuffed.

"It's okay," Steve said, his voice trailing off to almost nothing to contest the winds. He didn't know where to look or what to say to take back what he'd asked. Based on the silence, he'd clearly asked the wrong thing and Danny needed more time. Doctor Forbes had continually stressed Danny's need for space, patience and most of all, _time_ and he'd completely disregarded the advice.

"It's just ... I'd hoped ... but I won't ask again. You tell me ... when you're ready." He stammered badly as he back-pedaled, his mind flailing as badly as his hands as he tried to apologize.

Danny heaved a sigh at that point and shook his head as a useless gesture. "Monday," he announced, one arm held wide to add import to what he was saying. "Monday. Okay, you big goof! Will that work for you and your not so benevolent dictatorship that you call a task force?"

"Really? Are you serious?" Steve pursed his lips and then quickly nodded when Danny rolled his eyes in mock disbelief. He grinned then, pleased when Danny smiled back. "Good," he added. "Monday's good, Danno."

"What did I tell you about that? " Danny complained almost instantly at the now common use of the nickname. He tried to bite back his smile, but failed when Steve's broke free to reach his eyes as his rant grew.

" _Danno? Book 'em_? Are we going to have to have another long talk about your ridiculous penchant to push my buttons? Oh! And let's not forget my car ... _my_ car, Steven! The one that got nearly demolished in your driveway. How does that even happen? _Spaceships and aliens?_ Seriously?"

"Well, yeah," Steve helplessly laughed. This was good. This was natural, wonderfully normal and more than just a mere spark of the old Danny he'd missed so much. "Aliens and spaceships ... why not? Come on, Danno, I showed you the newspaper article! It wasn't my fault!"

"There it is again!" Danny objected loudly. But he was grinning too with a brightness that finally touched his eyes. " _Danno_? _Danno_ this ... _Danno_ that. No respect, Steven ... none whatsoever."

Steve snorted back a laugh to fight a sudden tightness in this throat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Danny truly smile, so he said the only thing that seemed to come to mind.

"Haven't I told you this before? It's a term of endearment," Steve replied happily, another friendly bump into Danny's shoulder added for good measure as they continued to stand side by side on the bluff. "You'll just have to learn to deal with it, _Danno_."

_**~ END ~** _

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mindgames](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8682394) by [IreneClaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneClaire/pseuds/IreneClaire), [KomodoQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KomodoQueen/pseuds/KomodoQueen), [Swifters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swifters/pseuds/Swifters)




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